


With each word your tenderness grows

by Persephonesheart



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alpha Eskel, Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alpha Lambert, Alpha Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Bad Parenting, Cute, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24778978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephonesheart/pseuds/Persephonesheart
Summary: In order to keep the peace between Human's and Witcher's, Alpha Geralt must enter into an arranged marriage with the Viscount de Lettenhove's omega son; a man he has neither met nor heard about. But as the Witcher's enter the home of the Viscount, something sinister seems to be occurring behind the doors of the castle and Geralt has only a couple of days to discover exactly what's happening and how to stop it.But he also has to deal with something a lot worse: how to deal with an enticing and all too alluring omega whose scent seems to be calling him and his feelings.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 435
Kudos: 1086





	1. I will feel a glow just thinking of you

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is my first Witcher fic so please don't expect a miracle, but I promise I'm trying my hardest. 
> 
> Title is from the song Just the way you look tonight.
> 
> TW: Does contain themes of incest, and a slight mention of underage marriage at the start.

Geralt stalked into the dining hall of Kaer Morhen, unimpressed with the fact his training session with Ciri had been called off in light of Vesemir. The oldest Witcher had ordered them all in shortly after breakfast, face grave and dark in the flickering light of the morning.

Eskel and Lambert were already there, lounging across the furniture and stealing the heat from the nearby fire as they attempted to best each other at braiding Ciri’s hair; from the multiply fly away pieces and rough shoving Geralt could tell both were doing an equally shit job.

Geralt took a seat next to Vesemir and could smell the old alpha letting off a small scent of concern and apprehension. “Ciri.” He growled out, smiling slightly when his cub batted his brother's hands from her hair, skipped over, and snuggled into his side. “Shitheads.” He nodded at Eskel and Lambert, strategically turning his head to face the old alpha as the two spluttered and protested.

“Pups,” Vesemir’s voice was low and serious, and the playful insults spat between the two other Witcher’s quietened as an oppressive force dropped onto them. “Earlier this week I received an offer from the Viscount de Lettenhove regarding a treaty between themselves and us,”

As always Lambert can’t quite keep his mouth shut, “Why the fuck would we want that?” and Eskel slaps him upside the head, with a quiet “fucks sake” under his breath.

Vesemir’s glare holds no amusement or fond exasperation as it normally does for the youngest, but within the gaze, Geralt can see the old alpha’s exhaustion, a bone-deep tiredness that goes beyond what any of them could ever comprehend.

“Human civilisation is once again rising against us, the people are becoming more aggravated at out presence Lambert, surely you’ve noticed on your travels?” Lambert nods, but Geralt himself has felt a shifting in the past few years.

Fewer places are letting him stay within their inns, and more mayors and aldermen are refusing to pay the promised amount for his work. Multiple times he’s had other alpha’s or omega’s attempting to poach Ciri away from him when he’s hunting monsters; coming back to the inn to find someone attempting to get her to run away from him.

It is exhausting, and his money is slowly dwindling to the point he can only just afford to look after his cub.

The Witcher’s of Kaer Morhen could not withstand another angry mob.

“Viscount de Lettenhove has significant influence over the human population, he’s well-liked, rich, charming, you get the idea. He proposed a marriage between one of us and his son, to show the people that Witcher’s can assimilate with them.”

Geralt hides his surprise under his usual mask of indifference, clutching Ciri closer as if to prevent Vesemir from even considering sending her off like some mail-order bride. Out of the five of them present, Ciri is the only beta and if the son were to be an alpha, it’s most probable she would be made to go.

Eskel leaned forward in his seat, eyes narrowed in apprehension as he worked through the offer in his mind. “I can see how that might benefit us; we could finally get Lambert off our backs” – Lambert squawked at offence – “but what would he get out of it? Why give us the offer in the first place?”

Vesemir once again looked troubled, “I’m not sure, the Viscount seems to be a man who craves adoration, so this could just be an attempt at getting his name in some history book somewhere.”

Ciri squirmed in her place on Geralt’s lap, and the alpha let her go gently as she pandered up towards Vesemir. “So who’s going to marry him?”

The group held a collective breath, each alpha fearing the dreaded words that would send their little lion club hurtling straight into the arms of some stuck-up noble. Geralt’s chest rumbled with the force of his growling, an angry snarl appearing on his face as he thought of Ciri being packaged up and sent away to be some noble’s wife.

“Calm yourself Geralt,” Vesemir’s voice broke through his haze of rage, “our cub will not be going anywhere I promise you.” Geralt’s growl died down but he drew Ciri closer to him anyway, his inner alpha demanding her presence to be nearby. He needed her somewhere he could reach.

“The boy is an omega, and his father has already chosen one of you to be married. Rest assured my pups, should you wish to reject this offer I will do so with no hesitation, we may not be strong in numbers but humankind can not outlive us and we have more power than most can even hope to dream of.”

Lambert snorted in sarcastic amusement, a disbelieving look already on his face. “This guy is giving away his son, his _Omega_ son, to one of us, one of the _big bad alpha Witchers_ , for fame and in return, we get peace with humankind. Something about this doesn’t sit right with me Vesemir.”

Besides him Eskel nodded, but his face was contorted into curiosity, “but we know humans are fickle, narcissistic things – sorry Ciri – so it could just be what it appears.”

Vesemir nodded, “True, but ultimately the choice does not come down to either of you,” Geralt’s head peeked up, eyes hardening and hands clenching as he caught Vesemir’s gaze. He frowned deeply, cradling his cub closer to him as weighed the pros and cons of the situation; he couldn’t just approach this with his usual attitude, for the union could potentially support his brothers and help secure Ciri’s position in the world.

“The Viscount decided Geralt was the one to be married to his son. Stories of your deeds have travelled far and wide, and you’ve gained enough renown for him to consider you a suitable match for his son.”

Geralt didn’t speak, eyes clouded with thought as Ciri curled into him more, pressing her calming beta scent towards him. “Hmm,” he decided on, looking towards his brothers for their opinion on the matter.

Eskel looked curious whilst Lambert sported a shit-eating grin, shooting a thumbs up and pumping his hips in a vulgar fashion. “Serves you right to be tied down you ugly fucker, who else would take you if not for a desperate lordling.”

Geralt grabs a chalice from nearby and lobbed it at Lambert’s head, chuckling darkly as it hit him directly in the bridge of his nose. “You little fucker –“

“It would be a good idea I think” Eskel spoke at last. “On a base level, if the union did provide us with some levity with humans then we could begin to actually be treated more fairly than we are now; I’d not prefer another night having to smell Lambert if I can help it,”

All the Witcher’s ignored Lambert’s groan of outrage where he lay against the floor holding his nose.

“But even more, he’s an omega Geralt, whilst you’re out in the Path, he can look after Ciri.” Subconsciously, Geralt began growling at the thought of another looking after his cub and drew the girl closer to him as if protecting her from phantom touches. “Stop that Geralt, you’re not a child. He’ll have natural nurturing and protective instincts about him, if you do get married he’ll see Ciri as your child and therefore someone to take care of.”

Geralt digested his brother’s words with a nod. He may not be able to stand the thought of someone he doesn’t know, doesn’t trust caring over his cub, but Eskel has a valid point. The Path was no place for little children and although Ciri could handle a weapon and was proficient in combat, it did little to protect her from any monsters they came across.

Vesemir had not once taken his eyes of Geralt, and now the white wolf looked back with determination in his golden gaze. “Hmm” He finally growled out and Vesemir nodded in confirmation. “Very well, I’ll let him know we accept.”

What an interesting meeting. Geralt was already regretting everything.

* * *

No real-time had been allowed for the group to meet with his future mate, let alone for Geralt to have a conversation with him before the wedding ceremony began.

Upon their entrance to the city, Geralt and his family had been escorted through the streets by a pasty, cowering servant that was pale and sweating at the sight of them. People in the streets stopped and gawked at the pack of Witcher’s; some hid behind their curtains whilst others gazed openly, a mixture of both admiration and fear in their eyes and scents.

The city itself boasted a quaint appearance. Colourful houses lined the streets with beautiful and neatly trimmed public gardens appeared frequently, brightly coloured and pleasantly smelling flowers within them painting the ground into a rainbow of patterns and designs that caught the eye.

From her position on his shoulders, Ciri cooed and gawked at the sight, avidly admiring each and every one. The moment they next met with Yennefer, Ciri was bound to tell her every detail of what she’d seen.

 _Fuck_ , Geralt groaned, _Yennefer_.

Geralt had yet to inform the alpha witch of the current events taking place. It was anybody’s guess what she was likely to do when she found out; Eskel had betted she would castrate him whilst Lambert had snidely suggested she’d laugh until she died.

He was pretty sure Vesemir had betted something too, but Geralt was refusing to believe his father figure would stoop to such heights as betting with Lambert.

On every corner merchants happily pedalled their unique wares but Geralt refused to go near any, his money was already running low and the group needed none of the trinkets that were being sold. Although from the way Ciri’s eyes glassed over at some of the toys made Geralt rethink the decision.

They were led slowly to a giant castle in the centre of town, a grey stone monstrosity that towered above everything else and cast the nearby area in shade. Here the clothing looked fancier, more refined, better suited to what his cub might have worn during her time as a princess. The people acknowledged them with a sharp nod or hesitant smile before moving onwards with their day.

It was unsettling peaceful.

Eskel nudged his shoulder gently, and Geralt turned to look at his with a deadpan expression. “Do you think this is what it will be like when you’re married? Everyone just doesn’t give two shits if we are here or not?”

 _Like fuck,_ Geralt wants to say, but the hopeful expression on Eskel’s face – an expression that Geralt hasn’t since before their trial – makes him pause and consider his answer. “Hopefully,”

Together the group are led inside the grand doors, guards bowing in respect as they pass by. Inside is a shrine to wealth; every other wall hangs a tapestry embroidered with vivid colours, windows made with stained glass that paint a tableau of the family’s history on the floor they walk upon. Chandeliers hang in every arch of the roof, twinkling with gold and diamond and rich oil paintings of different lands and Viscount line the walls.

Servants bustled about without a care to the Witcher party, moving steadily around the area with cleaning products, food, and clothing. Their gazes remained averted, drawn to the floor, and bowing slightly as they passed; Geralt wasn’t sure but he believed this was common practice when someone entered a noble’s home. Beneath their feet, a plush red carpet leads them to the entrance of the main hall.

Scents invaded his nose freely and Geralt was thankful the hallway was full of betas. Their scents were neutral and weak to his alpha nose, with little uniqueness about them to separate each individual from the crowd.

From behind him, Geralt watched as Lambert openly winked at a pretty slip of a woman scrubbing the floors whilst Eskel blushed as a more adventurous young man carrying some firewood licked his lip and smiled his way.

Soon enough they were at the entrance to the main hall and the servant before they bowed in their direction and stalked off, leaving them to face the Viscount and his son alone. “Geralt,” Vesemir’s voice rose softly behind him and the Witcher turned his head in acknowledgment.

The old alpha hadn’t spoken much since their talk a week ago, his face often drawn into a thoughtful expression and his eyes downcast. “Don’t forget what I said when we first discussed this. Marriage is a big commitment, especially one with such a dramatic air to it if at any point you wish to leave we shall do so and weather the storm of consequences together.”

Geralt didn’t respond verbally, simply nodded his head in gratitude, and turned back to face the door that separated him from his future mate. Lambert and Eskel had finally sobered enough to feel the reality of the situation as their petty insults and slight roughhousing ceased as they faced the dark oak doors in front of them.

Sweeping Ciri off his shoulders, Geralt stood up tall and drew her close to his side, wrapping an arm around her for protection. Silently, the rest of his family drew closer and Geralt took the chance to immerse himself in the familiar scent of his pack; he inhaled deeply, knowing the next breath he took would be soured by the Viscount and his son.

“Papa,” Ciri’s light voice rose to meet his ears, “are we going in?”

With another nod in her direction and a growl rumbling in his chest, Geralt took the final step between himself and the door and placed his hand against the heavy wood. With his Witcher senses, the alpha could hear the quiet mumblings inside the room, a few people talking softly in anticipation of their entrance, but couldn’t decipher any scents.

Geralt pressed against the door, opening it slowly, and heard the quiet conversations in the hall cease. Instantly he was overwhelmed with the smell of many alphas, their strong pheromones plaguing the air and invading his nose uncomfortably. “Holy fuck!” Eskel cursed behind him, covering his nose with a large hand as they stepped through the doors, “it’s like a fucking alpha pissing contest in here.”

Lambert scrunched up his nose in disgust whilst Vesemir kept his face passive and unresponsive; but Geralt could smell the irritation laying beneath his skin, the repulsion of having such strong scents thrown in their faces and overpowering their Witcher senses. Geralt looked briefly around the hall as they walked up to the dais of the Viscount, golden eyes scouting for the omegan figure of his future mate.

However all around the room were alpha’s of varying age and status, each carrying scrolls of some sort and wearing rich, fashionable clothing. They stared at the group with curiosity and morbid fascination, tittering to each other quietly so as to not be heard by their delicate hearing. Each scent was more oppressive than the last, every alpha attempting to show off their prowess and authority when confronted with the Witcher pack of Kaer Morhen.

Perched in the middle of the room, dressed extravagantly in an emerald green doublet and cream coloured silk shirt was who Geralt figured was the Viscount. _Fucking nobility,_ Geralt hissed in his mind as he saw the Viscount smile viciously at their approach, arms spreading wide in a welcoming gesture.

Above all else, the Viscount smelt the most strongly of alpha pheromones; an oppressive cocktail of dominance and power that made Geralt scrunch his nose in disgust. This was the man who was to be his father in law? A dandy with gaudy décor and a need to assert his dominance through smell. A man who’s smile was lined with danger and whose eyes sparkled with dark intent?

The omega, however, was nowhere to be seen, and his scent most likely buried beneath the mountains of alphas who had congregated to see their approach. Geralt felt like his family was a freakshow, their audience enraptured with every movement they did, he could hear them whispering and gossiping to each other. _Look at how **human** they are, yet how **unnatural.**_

As they get closer to the dais, Eskel reached out and pulls Ciri back into him, hiding him from the curious and lecherous gaze of the surrounding alpha’s as Geralt pushed to the very front.

The Viscount and himself stay in an impasse of will, neither wanting to bow before the other and show any potential weakness. The hall is silent in anticipation, every pair of eyes set upon the two of them. Geralt shuffles slightly, uncomfortable with the attention he is receiving, but then watches with disguised curiously and surprise as the Viscount bows in his direction first.

It was unusual for anyone to bow to a Witcher, let alone bow first, and the shocked gasps that echoed around the hall – and from Ciri herself who knew every inch of court etiquette – drew the narcissistic viscount back to a standing position.

With respect to the display and remembering the cruel hours of his cub lecturing them all on proper etiquette with vicious accuracy, Geralt bows back. His head is low, neck curved gracefully and his hand placed against his stomach; like this, the scent of the alpha’s in the room is muffled, hidden behind the curtain of his white hair that has fallen around his face.

As he stands, the white halo surrounding him parts, and Geralt is attacked with the single most enticing, alluring scent he has ever come across. It reminds him of the flower fields by his home centuries ago, the rows and rows of dandelion weeds and lilies that grew years after year without fail. It reminds him of the freshly baked bread Vesemir makes every morning during the winter, and the vanilla Ciri uses when she bakes. His mind turns hazy, intoxicated on the scent, and Geralt glances up from the curtain of his hair to see where the captivating scent was coming from.

Before him, face hidden behind a veil of ivory white stood the omega.


	2. This inhuman place makes human monsters

Golden eyes widened in shock, unable to move from where they roamed over the covered body in awe. He was tall, taller than most omegas – he was almost as tall as most alphas – and dressed elegantly in a dark green doublet embroidered with small wisps of flowers over a feminine styled shirt; an open collar and ruffles descending from the neck as was popular in Omegan fashion.

His long legs were wrapped tightly in black braises, and Geralt couldn’t move his eyes from where they emphasized the lean muscles and sensuous length. As was customary in a formal setting the omega’s face was covered by a veil, the current one a dark green to compliment the outfit, and Geralt longed to see the face beneath the cloth.

He longed to see the face of the man he was marrying, of the omega who’s scent, drove him wild and enraptured him like a siren’s song. After the revelation of his impending marriage, Geralt and his brothers had done some quick research on the younger Julian and found multiple rumours of the boy’s beauty and how he was the most desired in the lands.

Geralt desired to see if the title was true.

He couldn’t tell if the omega was looking his way, the veil shrouded his face in such complete darkness that not even his Witcher senses could see past it. But he hoped the boy was, hoped he looked at Geralt and found himself satisfied with what he saw.

It was an unusual feeling inside Geralt, one he knew Lambert and Eskel liked to rib him on every time they saw him, but the desire to be _wanted,_ for someone to actually look at him and decide they wanted to be _with him,_ was a feeling Geralt tried to hide.

“Geralt?”

Golden eyes flickered back from the omega’s legs to his veiled face, not wishing to offend the man, and in the air, the Witcher could scent the omega’s amusement and curiosity. It was a sweet and pleasant aroma, citrusy, and calming in a way that matched Ciri’s own scent.

“Geralt?”

There was no fear however, Geralt could smell apprehension but no fear on the omega; it was curious to see such an ethereal being look upon him and feel nought but curiosity.

“Geralt?”

A sharp jab to his ribs broke Geralt’s concentration and the alpha looked down at where Ciri had punched his ribs, her small fist still clenched and ready to move on Lambert’s snickering orders. “Hmm,” he growled out, pulling his cub closer to him and away from his scheming brother.

Eskel nodded his head discreetly in the direction of the Viscount and Geralt looked over to see the man sneering lightly at him, arms still opened wide in welcome and clearly noticing the way Geralt had been eyeing his son.

If he could have blushed, Geralt’s cheeks would have been the colour of blood.

The viscount lowered his arms, his smile becoming small but no less menacing as he savoured the sight of Geralt so obviously appreciating the view of his son. “Master Witcher’s,” he nodded towards Ciri and instinctively Geralt pressed her closer to his side, “Miss Ciri, my I present you to my son Julian Alfred Pankratz.”

The Viscount stretched out a single arm in the direction of his son, allowing him to bow to the Witcher’s, “Or as we like to call him here, Dandelion.” Geralt didn’t require any mutant senses to see the omega flinch at the use of the nickname.

When he stood up, the sensual scent wafted back over to him, and Geralt shivered as pleasure shot through his body. Never before had he felt such attraction for one person – Yennefer had the potential to be one such person but that passion had been quick and painful.

The omega stepped forward towards the group, feet moving silently across the floor as he clasped his hands together in front of his body. As he came closer Lambert scented the air, humming in pleasure at what he found and an irreversible urge rose within Geralt to growl and smack his brother for daring to scent the omega in such away. Ciri looked up at him in confusion as Geralt tightened his grip on her, unsure of what was happening.

“Welcome to our home noble Witchers” he began, and Geralt started in shock. His voice was melodic, rising and falling as if in song, a perfect little songbird. It flowed like a river and was soft like silk in his ears; Yet it was also refined, following the same quietness and meekness that omega’s in court were often made to do.

Geralt wanted to hear him sing.

Vesemir took the lead as head of the Witcher pack, the older alpha nodding his head in respect of Julian’s position before smiling warmly, or as warmly as a scarred Witcher ever could. “We thank you for inviting us here and look forward to the wedding in a few days’ time,” In comparison to the songbird, Vesemir’s voice seemed remarkably gruff and uneducated, grating on Geralt’s ears like rocks.

The two groups did not move for a few moments. Standing tall the omega watched the Witcher pack, hidden eyes no doubt roaming between them all and weighing them up to judgement and the Witcher’s watched him back. He could see Eskel take note of the man’s frail wrist and the way Lambert frowned at how he seemed to favour one leg over the other.

Geralt, however, was watching his father.

The Viscount was watching his son through beady, malicious eyes filled with coldness and something more Geralt couldn’t identify. Whatever it was though, made him uncomfortable to see; it was the sort of look Geralt wouldn’t hesitate to punch someone for if they turned it on his little lion cub.

“Master Witchers,” he finally said, moving his eyes away from the covered form of his son and to the group standing below the dais, “my servants will show you to your rooms, and you can set your things down and freshen up before dinner. I’m sure you’ve had a…strenuous journey so please take your time.”

Geralt went to say thanks when he once again caught sight of the flinch that jolted the smaller omega’s body at his father’s words. It caused his polite smile (“ _That’s not a polite smile Geralt that’s a fucking grimace” “Fuck off Eskel”)_ to drop slightly and his nose to scent the air unobserved by those around him.

He could smell fear now.

The group was quickly ushered away by a small number of servants, Geralt hoisting Ciri back onto his shoulders so that none of the betas around them could touch her as they had with Eskel to get him to move. As they were escorted through the door, Geralt felt the need to turn back slightly, to take one last look at the omega that he would shortly be marrying.

Golden eyes widened at the sight of the Viscount pressed up against his son, using his height to intimidate his son into a cowering position. One of his large, meaty hands clasped tightly over the dainty and frail wrist of the omega and holding tight enough to cause some bruising.

Before he could move, before he could speak out, the doors shut behind them with considerable force; the large slam causing the Witcher’s to jump with their sensitive hearing working against them.

 _For now, I won’t say anything_ Geralt thought, looking around him in concern at the servants nearby, wondering if they would spy on the group for their employer, _But I will find out more about this ‘Viscount’._

Their walk seemed to last for a considerable amount of time, taking them down long hallways and up and down multiple sets of stairs before finally arriving in a brightly lit, sparsely decorated hallway. At each door they passed the servants would call a Witcher forward, letting them into their room and handing them the key before moving on to the next room.

Geralt and Ciri were placed in between Lambert and Vesemir, with Eskel on the other side of his brother at the entrance to the hallway itself. With a quick “dinner will be at 8” the servants practically ran from them, the scent of fear polluting the air and making Geralt scrunch his nose in disgust.

The group looked at each other cautiously, weighing up the decision to be here and Geralt let Ciri off his shoulders when his little cub began to get restless from her position. With a sigh he opened the door and stepped inside, surprised at the average looking room he found on the other side.

There was ample space, with a large bed and bath already prepared. Small cupboards were available to store their belongings and a fire roared in the fireplace, already lit in preparation for their stay. It wasn’t grand by any measure, there were no decorations or anything besides the bare essentials, especially not from the wealth he had seen displayed earlier, but it was better than most inns and certainly beat camping outside.

Ciri definitely thought so, and Geralt let out a please rumble at the sight of his daughter running from his side and launching herself at the bed, instantly sighing at its softness; she had yet to fully leave behind all of her luxuries as a princess.

Setting down their pack, Geralt observed the steaming bath in the room, mentally calculating if they had enough time for both to have a decent wash before the water got cold and dinner was served. If they were quick, both he and Ciri could have hot baths with time to spare to get sufficiently ready for the evening’s dinner.

His daughter had informed him that, no, he was most certainly _not_ allowed to wear his armour to the table and had already decided on a suitable outfit for him to wear later on.

“Ciri,” he spoke, voice soft and loving in a way it only ever was with his little lion cub. He hid a snort as she lifted her head from the bed, white hair flopping in her face, and continued “get in the bath and clean up, then you can help me get ready for tonight.”

With a beaming smile, his beta cub rose quickly from the bed and hurried to her pack for a bar of soap, eager at the prospect of playing dress-up with Geralt. The Witcher hoped it was a phase she swiftly came out of as she entered her teens, but for now, he would gladly let her dress him up if it pleased her.

He could survive that, but dinner might be an entirely different ordeal.

* * *

Dinner was an incredibly subdued affair.

The only ones present were Geralt with his family and the Viscount; Julian was nowhere in sight and the servants stayed clear of the table unless refilling a goblet or placing down the dished.

The fact that his intended was not present made Geralt uncomfortable, especially after what he had witnessed that afternoon. When he’d finally asked where the omega was, Geralt had watched through narrow eyes as the man’s father waved his hand dismissively and gave a heart-hearted excuse of his son having to rest due to over-excitement.

It didn’t take a Witcher to know he was lying.

Dinner was tense afterward, conversation remaining short and stilted between the small group. Ciri, bless her heart Geralt thought, had tried to keep everyone lively by instigating discussions and asking about the palace’s history but the Viscount did not seem interested in answering and spoke only in monotone to her.

His comments throughout were concerning, the man seeming viciously pleased at his son being bedded by a Witcher and discussing the current omega right petitions with savage commentary. Geralt knew he also wasn’t the only one to notice how the man never referred to his son by name, only by his nickname or omega, spitting out the word like a slur and scrunching his face as he did so.

It made his inner alpha howl at the mistreatment of his intended.

It made Geralt confused at the surge of protectiveness he felt.

Eskel, Lambert, and Vesemir continuously glanced at him during the evening, probably scenting his anger in the air and worrying he was going to cause a scene that would have them thrown from the city.

His sense of relief when the dinner ended was ginormous and the group made a hasty exit as the Viscount dismissed them from his table. They moved quickly to their rooms, unwilling to suffer the strange looks and scent of fear from the servants after such a weird evening and sending each other looks of worry and confusion.

This proposal from the Viscount was seeming to be much more than any of them could have ever thought.

As they reached their door the group said a gruff goodnight, with Eskel slapping Lambert on his head before running and locking himself inside his room to avoid the consequences. The small moment broke the tension of the group and Geralt entered his room feeling a little lighter, subconsciously releasing the tight grip he’d had on Ciri.

“Dad?” Her soft voice questioned, green eyes peering up with anxiety deep in their gaze.

“Yes,” Geralt’s rough voice came out, attention solely on his daughter as he stopped preparing the bed for them to sleep. Ciri looked uncomfortable in the room, glancing around in caution before meeting his gaze; she was biting her lip and tapping her leg in nervousness and Geralt resisted the urge to wrap her in his arms.

“I don’t like the Viscount, he frightens me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the second chapter of this work! Please don't hesitate to comment on what you liked, didn't and what you think will happen next xx


	3. There will come a poet who's weapon is his word

Jaskier perched on the windowsill, eyes turned to the sky as he lazily strummed the strings of his lute, a couple of potential songs coming to mind. The abandoned hallway was perfect for practice, the gentle sounds echoing off the walls and his voice harmonizing in the silence; in these moments Jaskier felt himself to be a siren, voice enrapturing and bewitching to any passer-by, his body lithe and sultry that any person would lose their senses as the gazed upon him.

The omega sighed, hands coming to a stop on his lute. It was a dream to be so desired, his father had ensured that no one would ever truly want him. He was broken, and the alpha marrying him would find out soon enough.

Unbidden, a cloud of butterflies erupted in his stomach at the thought of the alpha Witcher. Strong and taller than any man before him, Jaskier had near fainted when the man had strode through the doors, face dark and fearsome in the fading light. White hair so startling and bright, he could have mistaken it for pure, undisturbed snow even through the green of his veil.

His muscles were defined and tight, rippling under his shirt, and Jaskier felt the blood rush to his cheeks at the thought of them wrapped around him, or _god-forbid_ , holding him down. It was unseemly of an omega, to think of such desires, but Jaskier couldn’t stop imagining the strength of the alpha in bed.

Had his father given him the freedom that evening, Jaskier would have imagined his pleasures in full delight.

The white wolf Geralt – and what a strong name that was – had a voice like molten lava which made Jaskier’s knees weak and his head light. It reverberated in his blood, commanding him forward at the pleasure of the alpha, and Jaskier wanted to sink within its depths, submerge and wrap it around him for protection.

But, Jaskier thought as he began playing once again, light romantic music enchanting the air around him, his scent was the most amazing part. It was rich, burning embers of a fire, mixed with leather, and surrounded steel; a combination that settled around his soul and held on tight.

It had sung sweetly to him, _mine, mine, mine_ it had whispered.

Never before had a scent called to Jaskier as Geralt’s did; no other person had come close to having such an effect purely from meeting. It had been a siren song to Jaskier, and for a moment he had been willing to defy his father and fall headfirst into the alpha, damning the consequences that would befall him.

Blue eyes hadn’t mistaken the lingering stare of his intended, nor the way he leaned in closer. It was as the alpha’s body was cut off from his mind, unaware of its actions.

Jaskier blushed at the thought and buried himself in the lute to banish stray thoughts of love and romance, unwilling to sacrifice his heart to an unwitting venture. He would brave the storms of men, and the rage of his father, but for a broken heart Jaskier would hide himself away and pray to forgotten gods that he could be hidden.

It would not do good to dismiss the way of an alpha, to forget that Geralt’s body would react to his regardless of internal thought. The body could always love what the mind could not.

His father had drilled it in his skull from the moment he presented.

A noise broke his concentration; a small, subtle noise at the end of the corridor.

He turned his face towards the sound, hoping to catch only a servant or a strong gust of wind; something or someone who would forget his presence and carry on their lives with minimal fuss. But at the end of the corridor, a small child with shockingly white-blonde hair, toothy grin, and feral eyes stood hiding behind a pillar.

Subtly Jaskier scented the air around him, catching hints of juniper and fire smoke and his body relaxed minutely back on to the windowsill. It was his betrothed’s child, his ward, and so likely not any threat to him; just a curious child exploring his home.

He hoped, however, his father didn’t find out about this, nor that he had forgone his veil.

“Hello,” he called out softly, lowering himself to a smaller height and placing his lute beside him, bowing his head in submission. “Can I help you?”

The little girl said nothing, but she walked closer, head held high and nose turned in the air. It was clear the girl had come from some form of nobility, her every step breathed regality, but Jaksier would not do her the disgrace of prying into her private life.

“You are Julian, or Dandelion I believe your father called you?” Her voice was laced with curiosity, confident in her understanding of who he was. Her tone was melodic, rising and falling gently in a way only a special few could achieve.

Jaskier felt himself flinch at the mention of the nickname. Memories of its humiliating use flashing before his eyes as he tried to control his mind and his breathing, of it spoken in harsh tones and pleasured sighs.

He swallowed loudly in the oppressive corridor.

“I prefer Jaskier,” he muttered in the quiet, before clearing his throat and looking into the girl’s fascinating. “Jaskier, son of Arawn, Viscount of Lettenhove,” he spoke with a small bow and flourish of the hand, stretching it out towards her, “and who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

A small smile broke onto his face as the girl snorted at his antics, her initial weariness giving away as she placed her own hand into his own with a curtsey, “Cirilla, daughter of the Witcher Geralt, the White Wolf of Kaer Morhen.”

He pressed a chaste kiss to her hand, watching delightfully as a smile and blush bloomed on her face, and letting her happiness wash over him. “Well met.” Cirilla sat on the ground next to him with ease, pushing the lute in his direction as a silent request for him to play. Her smile was small but comforting and Jaskier could find no reason to not indulge her wish for music.

It would be nice to play for someone without the pretense of grandeur, or the need for theatrics, and Jaskier would gladly play for any who would allow him the time to indulge in his cosset activities.

For some time, the two sat peacefully in silence, broken only by the gentle strumming of Jaskier’s fingers on the lute and Ciri’s music requests. She challenged him to ballads, ditty’s, shanties and epic’s, every type of song she asked for Jaskier happily played to her.

It was a nice change to play for one who did not care for the proper placement of his fingers, nor the way his eyes flittered about the room. It was nice to play for playing sake and not reap consequences afterward. There they sat for a few hours more, the sun descending slowly across the sky as shadows built and fell around them in equal turn.

“Jaskier,” Ciri’s voice cuts through his playing and the omega respectfully trails the music off, letting the last vestige of sound echoing along the hallway before floating away out of the window. He turns his blue eyes to her form, taking in the way she had drawn her knees up to her chin and cradled her head in the palms of her hands.

“Princess?” He questions at her sudden silence, concern bleeding through his tone as he rests a single hand upon her shoulder for comfort; he sends out a crowd calming pheromones, but as a beta, he is unsure of how helpful they will be to the young girl. “Why weren’t you at dinner last night? All of us were so excited to learn more about you,”

A hand wraps around his throat at the question.

* * *

He can feel the harsh clamp of a hand around his wrist, dragging him down the corridors of the palace as spit and slurs are shouted in his face. A slap sending him tumbling down to the floor and a kick sending him hurtling down the stairs. Concrete steps smacking his ribs with every step as he twists and turns until finally landing on the floor.

Eyes that can’t see anything as pitch blackness takes hold of his vision, a shadow descending from the light above, fierce and intimidating, hands clenched into fists. Ears abused with ranting and raving as the sound of flesh hitting flesh echo’s in the shadows around him; slurs never spoken in the light of day cascading down his ears.

A moment of blessed silence as his body goes limp

Then hands creep around his person, touching and groping, unyielding as they line a path from his lips and down his body. Humming and laughing as clothes are pushed and pulled, torn from his body, and discarded on the floor. Humiliating moments, where he can do nothing but endure and feel the silent tears form a path down his face.

A tongue that laps them up with glee.

The nothing, just one body being dropped to the floor with only his trousers intact and another skipping up the stairs. He is once again surrounded in darkness as a door slams shut somewhere above him and a lock is put in place. Feet somewhere above him scrambling away with haste, and mummers of concern dripping down into the cold around him.

His precious veil, one so invaluable and unique to himself, is in tatters at his hands, destroyed beyond repair, and left behind without a glance.

He won’t see anything anymore until the sun is already high in the sky.

* * *

“Jaskier?” Ciri is looking at him with concern, hands around his face and body close to his own, eyes wide and panicked from where they gazed into his own. “Are you okay?”

From deep within him, Jaskier smiled softly at the girl, drawing her into his chest and letting a purr calm her nerves; he can only imagine what he must have looked like just then, spaced out and unaware, yet body coiled ready for a fight. “I’m sorry to have worried you,” he begins, drawing upon his years of omega etiquette training to lose the emotions in his voice and reduce it to something monotone and quiet.

“I was simply tired, Miss Ciri, you see I had quite a long day yesterday and with the addition of your party entering, I simply couldn’t find the strength to come to dinner.” Now more than ever Jaskier could feel the bruises lining every inch of his body beneath his clothes; his father would ensure they were gone before the wedding, however.

Ciri looked unnerved at his voice and actions, mouth turning to a frown and eyebrows screwing tight together in thought. She looked at his arms, at his chest, eyes screwing tight as if seeing directly through the fabric and the lies he’s told her. Her mouth opened as if to speak when a loud, booming voice called out for Ciri, making the two of them jump in surprise. If Ciri noticed how Jaskier curled into himself at the sound, she said nothing and looked away.

The voice came again, the sound clearly coming from the window next to them, and Ciri sighed as she stood up, dusting off her trousers and stretching out her hand for Jaskier to shake. “That’s Lambert,” she explained quietly, seemingly ignoring his loud, boisterous calls for her presence, “They’re probably worried about me, I’ve been gone most of the day.”

Jaskier took her hand and pulled himself up, squeezing it in thanks before regretfully letting go, his body already missing the calming touch of another. He frowned in guilt, _have I kept her here?_

Ciri smiled cheerfully at him, giving a small wave as she began sedately walking to the entrance of the hallway. “You play beautifully Jaskier, I would love to hear you play again soon.” Unbidden, a smile appeared on Jaskier’s face, and the omega gave a grand bow for her enjoyment, ignoring the twinge of pain in his muscles at the movement.

“Perhaps when Geralt is willing to let you out of his sight,” she responded with a giggle, before dashing away towards the frantic voice still calling below.

Jaskier couldn’t stop the blush on his face.

Perhaps one day he could play for Geralt.

* * *

Vesemir viewed the omega with a frown.

He had appeared for dinner wearing a formal attire consisting of a black corset around his waist and flowing shirt delicately embroidered with buttercups tucked into a pair of plain black braises. His face, as per propriety, was hidden behind a cream colour veil.

But the well-spoken man from the day before was not the one sat at the table next to his father. The omega spoke scarcely more than one word at a time, voice flattened into a monotone and head positioned down. He barely looked up to anyone person, answering any questions in simple terms of yes and no, and refusing to offer any more; his father took over any questions directed at his son, painting them an image of a boring child with no interests beyond learning how to be a good omega.

All night the Viscount had his hand resting upon his son’s knee, squeezing tight when the omega spoke and loosening when his mouth was shut.

But, before any of that Vesemir could smell the one thing that sent chills down his spine.

Fear.

The omega stank of fear, it invaded his nose and slithered down his throat. Vesemir could taste it in every bite of food and sip of his drink, and he was certain the rest of his cubs could as well; there was no telling if his father, as a regular alpha, could.

The question, however, Vesemir pondered all evening, was the omega afraid of them?

Or was he afraid of something else?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Y'all requested a Jaskier chapter so I hope you enjoyed it, and please don't hesitate to comment on what you liked, didn't and what you think will happen next xxx


	4. River dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> The second part of this was inspired by the music which is the chapters name, River's dance, which I urge you to listen to whilst reading: https://youtu.be/4sg16oRIGFE

Geralt peered down at his daughter, concern permeating the air through his scent.

“What do you mean?”

Ciri’s eyes were bright with confusion and worry, her lily-white hands clasped in front of her tightly as she bit her lip in thought. She’d woken him up first thing in the morning, shaking his shoulder repeatedly until he’d grumbled awake and sat beside him until he was coherent enough to listen to her; the difference from her usual running around until Geralt finally awoke was what had caused him alarm.

The younger girl had been quiet, eyes dutifully following Geralt around the room whilst he got ready for the day until eventually he had stood before her and raised an eyebrow in question.

There was only a day left until his wedding and Geralt had been forbidden to see his future omega outside of the evening dinner until that time in order to preserve ‘ritual and peace’ as Vesemir had called it – or “to stop them rutting like a pair of Kikimora’s” Lambert had muttered under his breath before Eskel had slapped him around the head.

For the past two mornings, Geralt had spent his time tracking various minor ghouls on the edge of town and taking them down; he may be getting married but he was still a Witcher.

That had, unfortunately, led to the situation yesterday where Lambert had lost his daughter for hours – and having the balls to tell Geralt they were simply having a game of hide and seek – before she deigned to reveal herself to him. It hadn’t taken long for Geralt to launch an attack against Lambert for his lies.

But something had happened during her time missing and Ciri had refused to talk about it to anyone. As a result, the dinner last night had been unbelievably awkward for all members involved. The hesitation and worry bleeding through Ciri’s pheromones, the monotone answers, and frightened scent radiating off of Julian combined with the darkness surrounding his father had left the Witcher pack to awkwardly shuffle around on the chairs.

They had never got on with positive emotions; a room filled with bad ones was practically an execution to sit through.

Whilst Lambert and Eskel had broken off into a quiet conversation to the side of him – something regarding a parakeet and a butcher’s daughter – Geralt had been left to try and navigate a conversation with a completely different omega to the one he had met upon arrival.

It had startled him, the amount of change in such a short period of time. Even the omega’s scent, which called to him like a siren’s song, was dulled and lessened to his Witcher senses. That much change was unnatural.

But, after looking upon the bed, Ciri had calmly explained to him that Julian – or Jaskier as he’d introduced himself to her as – was more complex than they had been led to believe and something sinister was happening in the palace.

She turned her eyes to where her hands lay before her, gripping them tightly as she thought over her words. Something about the situation was unnerving her enough that she felt uncomfortable to even look him in the eyes.

“He was so carefree when I spoke to him, funny as well,” she giggled to herself, lost in the memory of her meeting the illustrious omega. It was a nice look to have on her face and one that gave him hope Jaskier would be a good parent to his daughter once they were married.

“He played all these songs for me on his lute, by the way, did you know he was a musician dad?” Geralt shook his head in response and Ciri sighed slightly before moving on, “He was amazing, anything I requested he could perform from memory, and we sat there for _hours_!”

Geralt hmm’d in response to the news, now less angry about his daughter's whereabouts during his absence – Jaskier had clearly taken care of her than Lambert would have. That reminded him that he needed to chuck more shit at Lambert for his lack of nannying skills.

Ciri finally turned her face to his own, eyes darkening with sadness and her smile turning into a frown; her scent soured the air with distress and Geralt rushed to her side for comfort, wrapping the small girl in his arms and rumbling his chest. “I asked him why he wasn’t at dinner the first night, we were all so confused so I wanted to know…I – I didn’t expect him to react so badly.”

It’s moments like these that remind Geralt that Ciri is only young and her view of the world is not yet skewed enough to shield her from atrocities. Cintra may have fallen before her eyes but the Witcher’s packs quick reactions had gotten her out immediately and taken her far away; the war had barely touched Ciri before it was over.

Geralt stroked her hair softly, pushing the white tendrils from her face as tears gathered in her eyes. He needed to talk to Vesemir soon about what to do with emotional outbursts beyond sending her to Yennefer.

He lets her sniffle for a while, lets her brush whatever memory is at the front of her mind away before grunting in request for her to continue. “When I asked…he went so pale! All the colour just drained from him and, and, and he began to shake so much, like when Lambert locked Eskel outside the keep for days without any clothes.”

The image that stirs up is worrying. Eskel, as a Witcher, was able to last those three days easily but his body shook worse than a leaf in a blizzard, limbs physically unable to stop until hours after they had brought him in. Imagining Jaskier, someone a lot lither and smaller than his Witcher brethren, shaking that much stir up an ill feeling in his stomach – like a rock has been forced down to his stomach and is lining his gut.

“I kept calling his name, over and over and he just didn’t respond! It took me ages to finally get him to focus on me and, and he-he-he just smiled and said nothing was wrong!” Ciri is bawling in his arms, all childhood distress, and confusion. He hugs her tighter to him, offers what comfort he could in such a unique situation.

This situation with the omega just keeps getting worse; something more sinister is happening in this palace than they previously thought. The fear the omega had smelt of last night had been directed towards his father, not the Witcher’s, and the way he had sat was delicate and careful – as if hiding something beneath his clothing.

Now more than ever, Geralt couldn’t wait to leave this place with his omega.

* * *

Eskel walked down the streets of the city, whistling a rare happy tune as he let the early morning rays warm up his skin. He’d spent the last night in a handsome young man’s bed, the beta providing him with as much pleasure as he could have asked, and then more. Some of the things the beta had requested exceeded even Eskel’s widespread knowledge.

It was rare to find one so eager for a Witcher in their bed, even rarer still one who could handle having one in their bed so to say the day had started off well was an understatement.

With a parting kiss and a promise for more, the alpha had set off into the city, hoping to buy some trinket or other for his niece; perhaps a toy to distract her from the moment Geralt fully decided to bury Lambert into next week for losing her yesterday. It had made for a good laugh to witness Geralt just pick up the nearest object – which had happened to be a rotten apple – and smash it straight into his brother’s face for that.

As he moved towards the city centre, Eskel could hear lively music and laughter ringing in the air like a sweet melody, light like the taste of wine upon the tongue. Curiosity got the best of him and Eskel began lightly jogging in the direction of the sounds, hoping his presence wouldn’t disturb the peace amongst the people.

It took him only a few minutes to arrive and the sight that greets him breaks a little of the stone around his heart.

Children of all ages danced around a square, hopping, skipping, jumping, and twirling to a small band of musicians set up in the corner. Their laughter, so filled with innocence and childhood, lit up the air and made the world lighter, and Eskel pushed away the sadness that threatened to overcome him at his own lack of childhood.

Adults danced in a more organised circle around them, twirling around in singles or pairs and laughing brightly along with their children. Partners dipped and switched frequently, moving rapidly around the space as the music rose and sped up, the beat changing into something livelier and jaunty.

People around the edge clap in time, cheering on the adults as the children exit the space, happiness thriving in the air around him. Almost unknowingly, Eskel begins to clap along with a smile, foot tapping the ground in time to the music and eyes glued to the people moving around. The dance becomes more complicated as the music speeds up, the twirling becoming faster, the twists sharper; people switch partners at increased rates, moving back and forth as the gallop around the space.

Amber eyes fall upon a single person heading towards the centre of the circle, moving away from the other couples with a bright smile and loud cheer of excitement.

He cares little for the people watching him as he turns in place, flowy shirt rising in the air around him, hair fluttering in the wind. He leaps around the space, catching the eye of every person he goes close to before twirling away and leaping the other way, smile wide and wild on his face.

Moving back the middle, he extends his arms out to his sides and raises his head as if calling upon the gods above to participate. He spins faster and faster, becoming a blur to Eskel’s eyes as his laughter bubbles out into the area, loud and carefree in a way so few people ever are. Delicate arms windmill around, wrists rolling with the music as he moves the very wind around him.

Stopping with a breathless smile, he kicks his legs up to the side of him, bouncing on his feet as the music starts to draw to a close and throwing his head back in pleasure. All around the crowd claps the boy, cheering as he gives a final spin before coming to a stop, smile wide as he gives his impromptu audience a flourished bow.

Eskel has never seen such a display before, dancing in the northern regions is often more strict, tighter in the body and expressions. Every move is calculated, designed to show class and poise and the lines of a persons body; such displays are often boring for the Witchers, and Ciri herself – who had been brought up on such dances – frequently falls asleep from boredom if ever they are invited to a party.

It’s then, as he begins to leave the space, that the scent hits him full force.

Omega.

But not just any omega, _Geralt’s intended._

Wasn’t he supposed to be inside the palace? Every time one of the Witcher’s had gone to ask Arawn where his son was (in order to get to know their future brother in law better) they were turned away with a placating smile and sigh of ‘he’s busy with the tutors’ or some such similar answer. From what they’d been told the boy practically lived in the palace library, yet here he stood before Eskel, in the city centre with his face uncovered.

He could see the moment the omega caught Eskel’s own scent. Cornflower blue eyes widened slightly and turned surreptitiously towards him, throat bobbing as he swallowed tightly. They stood still for a moment, the crowd around them continuing on with celebrations as the boy and Witcher were unable to tear their eyes from the other.

Objectively, Jaskier had what someone would traditionally call feminine features. A softer jawline and full lips, high cheekbones, and long, dark eyelashes that brushed against his cheek as he blinked. Dark brown hair that rested against his forehead and reached down the nape of his neck, looking soft and fluffy in a way Yennifer would pay massively for; _he is exactly_ , Eskel realised with a start, _the sort of person Geralt would go for._

_Almost as if they were made for each other._

The omega tilted his head slightly, directing Eskel’s eyes to a smaller street to the side, one heading directly towards the palace where Julian should have been. He wastes no time in moving towards it, eyes watching as the omega followed him immediately, giving a few polite goodbyes to the people around him.

As they move into the smaller space, Julian walks closer to his body, arms occasionally brushing when the nearby flora was overgrown and blocked the path. Closer, his scent was more pleasant and soothing, reminding Eskel of an evening spent by the fire with his brothers, enjoying good food, and laughing at stories from the path.

“I’d appreciate it, Master Witcher,” The omega begins by his side, voice meek and quiet, head down and hands clasped together; his scent is not scared by any means, but Eskel can detect the undertones of worry and apprehension. “If you didn’t inform my father of what you just saw,”

Eskel looks down at the omega with a raised eyebrow and quirk of his lips. As a rule, the alpha Witcher generally isn’t interested in the issues of mankind, but the small omega next to him is intriguing, seemingly a perfect mix of court life and feral attitudes, dancing barefoot in the streets.

The omega seems to notice his amusement and confusion, raising his head slightly and smiling at his expression, “The people don’t know who I am without the veil, I can just be an ordinary person amongst them. They don’t care about the same rules as my father. I-,” he starts with a fault, clearing his throat and looking back down to his feet.

“I like the freedom.”

His voice is far away, his gaze even further. Eskel comes to a stop as the omega stops walking, head raised to the sky and seemingly lost in thought. When he speaks his voice is more distant than Eskel has ever heard, even more so than at dinner last night when he had scarcely spoken and had done so with a bored expression on his face.

“I’m afraid I must leave you now, I have to sneak back inside.”

Julian doesn’t wait for an answer, bowing slightly in Eskel’s direction before taking off down an unseen snicket nearby, limping slightly as he goes. The hesitant movement makes Eskel frown, and he takes a closer look at the omega’s body, noting the stiffness of his limbs and the way his clothing covers almost all of his body, even in the warm temperatures Lettenhove boasts.

He frowns, it would be best to tell Geralt of this interaction, perhaps they could get some answers.

But, he thinks with a smile, what a completely unique and special omega they had found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Please don't hesitate to leave a comment on what you liked, didn't and what you want to see in the future!


	5. And I breathe not now, not now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning for all readers, whilst not explicit, the ending of this chapter is a little bit disturbing and deals with non-penetrative sexual assault and incest, so if you don't want to read just stop at 'Lambert couldn’t wait to rip the bastard viscount’s face from his head' - there will be a gap between the two sections.
> 
> That being said, please enjoy this chapter and if you did like it please don't hesitate to leave a comment on what you liked, didn't and what you think might happen in the next chapter!!

Lambert has grown to hate the evening dinners which plague the group.

Vesemir was forcing him to suffer what was now the third dinner in a row with a viscount he’d rather gut and leave swinging on a tree; preferably whilst the man was still alive so he bled out slowly.

Not a single thing about the man was comforting to the Witcher, not his scent – something incredibly repulsive that tickled his nose – not his words, and most certainly not his eyes. Both he and Geralt had spoken at length about the Viscount that morning whilst Eskel was somewhere enjoying his free time.

Geralt had told him what Ciri had said, about her fear of the man, and Lambert was not going to question his brother’s little princess. Ciri had proven herself adept at gut instinct, knowing the best hunting grounds, methods to speak to random folk and which areas of a town they should avoid with just a glance. Not a single one of their pack would reject or dismiss anything or feeling the beta spoke about – especially not when she had borne witness to what sounded like Jaskier dissociating from his own mind at a single question.

And then had come Eskel, walking right into their conversation with his strange interaction with the omega in the city centre. The facts were aligning in a way Lambert didn’t like nor want to think about.

Either the man was a sadist, or he enjoyed having an omega for a son more than he should.

As Vesemir had bodily dragged him into the hall, Lambert had sworn to look out for more signs of what he feared. Ture to form, every time Lambert looked over at the Viscount his eyes were directly aimed towards his son, towards the sharp collarbones exposed by his shirt, towards the long line of his neck.

They were blown up in pitch blackness, not a single other colour shining through.

Worse still, every time Geralt attempted to speak to his betrothed the Viscount arm tensed from where it rested near his son. With a look towards Eskel, and some _very pointed_ eyebrow choreography to get his point across, his brother had looked in the direction of the Viscount’s hand; Ciri had poorly stifled a laugh at Eskel’s abysmal acting at dropping his fork but when the alpha had risen from beneath the table with a barely-there nod, Lambert felt his blood freeze.

It took years of his dedication and focus to not let his scent change, to make sure alpha/omega pair opposite him didn’t realise his drastic change in temperament. _Melitele_ above should the Viscount think the Witcher’s no longer would be pleased with him, he might rescind his offer of engagement.

They needed to get the omega far away from here.

From where he sat opposing him, the omega was just as withdrawn and silent as he had been the previous evening, awarding one-word answers even Geralt couldn’t hope to beat. The soulful voice they’d heard on the first day had long since disappeared, and Lambert had been listening to a faceless voice speak in the most monotone and hesitant tone for too long.

His brother’s often thought him the most oblivious of the group, the one least likely to have any tact or understand a situation – the baby of the group they liked to call him (which did garner them both a beating when he could be arsed) – but Lambert knew he was the only one to notice how Jaskier _wanted_ to interact.

Often the omega would flinch his head in the direction of Geralt’s voice as if turning to look at the man, before stilling and continuing to look out beyond any of the members present. He would swallow tightly when his father began to speak and would shuffle in his position when the man moved even the smallest of amounts.

So far, he’d contributed nothing to the conversation, seemingly happy to let himself fade into the background and let the alpha’s talk over and about him. Vesemir was doing an excellent job of distracting the viscount's focus away from his son, drawing him into conversations about history and politics, whilst Eskel did the same for Ciri.

She’d seen enough of the omega’s trauma for now, and the Witcher’s didn’t need her accidentally mentioning something which could potentially worsen their position.

The stories of the omega were so vastly different, Lambert grumbled to himself, spooning his broth into his mouth at rapid speed as no one at the table thought to include him in conversation. Ciri had described him as an angel, voice spilling the secrets of heaven and intelligence that could easily rival even Vesemir. Eskel called him a serpent in movement, able to move and wind in a space with hypnotic circles of his hips but spreading joy to the people as a ray of sun.

Lambert swallowed the last of his meal with reluctance as the table fell into awkward silence once again, the group too despondent to keep a good conversation flowing.

“Well,” the viscount spoke into the silence, slapping his hands down onto his knees as he stood from his chair, “this has been a lovely evening,” he spoke through a sneer, smile more fake than Lambert’s love for Eskel’s goats as he gripped Jaskier’s arm in a bruising hold and dragged him out of his chair, “but I’m afraid my son must have his beauty sleep in preparation for the wedding tomorrow.”

Around him, Lambert’s pack gave their own fake smiles in response, with Ciri tittering in agreement as her eyes stayed glued to the Viscounts's arm. Lambert himself couldn’t find the energy to even pretend everything about the situation was okay.

Together the pair began walking towards the doors, though more accurately Lambert might have called the omega’s movement stumbling and reluctant if he was allowed to voice his opinion. The scent of fear and distress was poignant but without confirmation, the Witcher’s couldn’t know for certain what exactly the omega was fearful of.

His gaze watched the omega as he turned his head under the veil as if he were desperately trying to catch Geralt’s eye.

“And of course,” Melitele was the man still talking, “He must prepare for the wedding _night_ _.”_

Something about the way the viscount spoke, and the way he tightened his grip on his son in order to press his nose against the smaller man’s hair, twisted Lambert’s gut with disgust and he couldn’t prevent his emotions being showcased on his face. In his arms, the omega flinched violently but remained in his father’s embrace as they finally reached the doors, though his reluctance was a beacon to the alphas.

Only a moment later did Lambert truly realise why when the scent of heady arousal struck his nose and watered his eyes.

A sharp crack brought his attention to where Geralt had snapped a chunk of the table off with his strong grip. He could see the way his brother’s nostrils flared and his golden eyes burned with righteous anger, gaze striking the door.

Lambert was unsure of what to do, and so looked towards Vesemir for help, for _anything_ about what they could do in this situation. “Tonight,” their father spoke, voice low with uncertainty and concern as his gaze too, never left the door where the omega had been only moments before, “tonight we must return to our beds and prepare for tomorrow,”

From the corner of his eyes, Lambert watched as his two brothers flew from their seats in outrage, eyes burning with injustice as they demanded action. In her seat Ciri looked at the group with concern, her beta senses unable to pick up the troubling scents they had been dealt with, and Lambert called her over with a gesture; he held her close as she came, wrapping her in his arms as if protecting her from the viscount himself.

With a glare Vesemir stopped his two brothers, the alpha sending out pheromones so strong the two couldn’t help but bare their necks in submission.

“Come tomorrow the pair of you will be married Geralt, at which point his father can have no say in what happens to his son. Then, and _only_ then, shall we take the omega far from this place.” His words carried authority and finality to them and Lambert bowed his head in respect of the decision.

The Witcher pack could not afford to lose this opportunity they had been presented with.

With an aborted movement, Lambert stood swiftly from his chair and bade his brothers goodnight, opting to take Ciri with him so that Geralt could properly prepare for the big day tomorrow; he knew the alpha wouldn’t like it, but he needed to have a final night to himself before he was connected with a spouse for the rest of his life.

But come morning, Lambert couldn’t wait to rip the bastard viscount’s face from his head.

* * *

A low voice spoke breathily in his ear, pleasure coursing through its tone as he felt the aborted thrusts against his thighs. “mój chłopiec, mój chłopiec, mój słodki mały chłopiec,”

Tears fell from crystal eyes, as groping touches forced their way around supple skin and left a trail of unseen stains, “Wkrótce będziemy mogli być razem właściwie”

Strained gasping and moaning reached disgusted ears as a warmth ran down the back of parted thighs that shook with despair and distress, “Wkrótce naprawdę poczujesz mnie w sobie”.

Unwanted hands swept back soft hair with misguiding gentle hands, a cold cloth swiping at shaking thighs as a tender kiss found its way to a long, swan neck.

“Mój syn”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my translations came from the great institute of google translate so if you notice something wrong, please let me know!
> 
> mój chłopiec, mój chłopiec, mój słodki mały chłopiec - My boy, my boy, my sweet little boy
> 
> Wkrótce będziemy mogli być razem właściwie - Soon we will be together properly 
> 
> Wkrótce naprawdę poczujesz mnie w sobie - Soon you will feel me within you
> 
> Mój syn - My son


	6. Hey Lolita, hey, I know what the boys want, I'm not gonna play

Vesemir brought forth all his training and years of experience to hide the grimace that adorned his face as he sat opposite Arawn. The alpha smelt repulsive, distress, and resentment seeded deep within his scent.

The Witcher was in no mood to appease or entertain his host this evening, not after being dragged out of his room by a harried servant with ‘important summons’ at the darkest part of the night. His patience had already been worn to a thin line by this man but summoning him from his chambers after they had parted from dinner hours ago with a fickle excuse and no wine to soothe the way was causing him to scrape the barrel of kindness.

Arawn himself appeared to be in no worry, or rush, to discuss his important matters.

Clothes rumpled and wrinkled as if he’d put them on in a hurry, or perhaps done a few laps around the village, a glass of whiskey in his hand and relaxed back into the high backed seat of his chair by the fire; every inch of him looked hedonistic and playful, his expression giving away the complete joke he believed himself to be playing.

Golden eyes had seen the way the bed was equally as messy, the covers thrown around and distorted, and concluded from the fading smell of release that the man must have found himself some fun after their dinner. That would also mean he decided to have some _personal_ fun was more important than whatever nonsense he had called Vesemir down for.

Vesemir cleared his throat, an uncomfortable silence having stretched for too long between them. “Arawn,” he begins, “why have you called me here?”

The Viscount lifts his eyebrow slightly, a slight smirk coming to his lips as he takes a sip of his whiskey. But he says nothing and Vesemir feels the strings of frustration pulling harshly in his mind, “The wedding is only a few hours away, surely you would prefer if we all got some rest beforehand?”

The comment is petty, especially since it was the Viscount himself who instructed them to their beds for the evening.

Arawn swallows his drink and smiles crookedly. His eyes darkened and lowered, all ease and happiness sapping from them as they turned upon Vesemir and his hand clenched tightly around the glass, the tips of his fingers turned white from the pressure. “As I was turning in for the night I suddenly remembered an aspect of the wedding we have yet to discuss my dear Witcher.”

Vesemir must be unable to successfully hide his expression of surprise from the man as Arawn’s smirk grows into a toothy grin and he places the glass slowly onto the table next to him, resting his now empty hands into his lap. All aspects of the wedding, as far as Vesemir and the other Witcher’s were concerned, had long since been finalised, with each decision having been done in advance to avoid disruption.

The man smells of pride and amusement, his vanity clear on his face as he watches the confused dance in Vesemir’s mind play across his face. “You see we forgot to discuss a _very important_ moment in the entire ceremony, and what would be happening for it,”

An important moment in the entire ceremony, not just the wedding itself then. They’d discussed what would happen the morning before the wedding, where each participant would get changed, where they would stand or sit to prepare. They had discussed at length the actual wedding ceremony itself, what custom from each member would be followed, who would walk down the aisle, what the vows would be, the guests.

Briefly, they had touched upon the reception afterward, with Vesemir having diverted all decisions to the Viscount on behalf of the fact that the man was much more experienced with throwing parties than he ever would be. _But we have discussed all of these,_ Vesemir frowned in thought, _so that would mean…oh god…_

“You’re talking of the wedding night when they consummate the marriage.”

Bingo

Viscount Arawn’s smile turns vicious, a full alpha smile that shows too many teeth and borders on predatory. Not often can Vesemir say he is afraid, least of all afraid of mortal men, but for a second he checks if for the presence of the dagger strapped to his ankle and his eyes dart towards the door to his left.

Dark eyes flickered across his body quickly, almost too quick for Vesemir to notice, before the Viscount leaned back into his chair, hands unclasping as he once again reached for his drink, smile dimming into a diplomatic smile. “I’m not sure what your customs are master Witcher, for when one of your own gets married, but here in Lettenhove we tend to stay traditional.”

Vesemir knows, and he’s certain that Arawn does as well, that Witcher’s have no specific ritual or tradition for the wedding night. In the days where Witcher’s thrived they would simply end the wedding at the reception and everything after was for the couple to decide in the privacy of their bed-chamber.

But now, with Witcher’s being so few, and Geralt marrying into such a high ranking member of the court, they must defer to Lettenhove tradition in order to show respect and approval of the match.

He feels his nod slightly, a silent confirmation to continue, and the Viscount smiles brightly into his drink at the sight. “In our little area,” he begins, gently caressing his chin with one hand whilst the other swirls the whiskey glass, “when an omega gets married for the first time, an outside presence relating to both the married parties is, _required_ , shall we say.”

Honey sweetness drips from his tongue as Arawn uses his finger to play with the rim of his glass, his eyes following the movement with sincerity and determination; its almost as if he didn’t even realise the souring of Vesemir’s scent or the astonished look on his face. “Why?” He chokes out, unable to justify such actions, such perversions of a beautiful ceremony.

“It’s a check you see, we told you the omega was a virgin, we _promised_ , so one member of your household and one from mine must be present in the room to ensure the statement is true. It’s just a precaution to keep everyone happy, and if the omega has lied about their virtue then you reserve the right to toss them aside.”

His smile is saccharin, tone even more so, and Vesemir wants to punch a fist through his chest and rip out his heart.

“This is necessary?” He decides on responding, voice low to hide any emotion or feeling which ma be infused. Such perversions were unheard of to Vesemir, he knew of no other place that enforced such an oppressing rule upon their citizens, upon their _omega_ citizens no less. Not a single one of his Witcher’s would be happy with this revelation, especially without the proper time to digest it, and every one of their inner alpha’s would be howling at the thought of the new addition to their family being put under such scrutiny.

“Absolutely, my dear Witcher.” The whiskey is drained and the alpha stands from his seat in one smooth movement, hand already outstretched towards the door in an obvious invitation to leave.

“So please,” he speaks once more as Vesemir reaches the exit, body freezing as the words move over him, “take your time choosing Witcher, it's guaranteed to be a good show.”

He definitely wanted to rip his heart out, perhaps even feed it Lil Bleater whilst he was at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter today, but I hope you enjoyed it! Sorry for the lack of Jaskier and Geralt but they'll be front and centre for the next chapter so don't fret! Please don't hesitate to comment on what you liked, didn't, and anything you wanna see in future chapters!


	7. A storm breaking on the horizon, of longing and heartache and lust

Ciri frowned from her place on Geralt’s bed, confused about the uproar going on around her.

Vesemir had woken her and Geralt incredibly early – definitely earlier than they needed to be up – by dragging a grumpy, grumbling pair of brothers into her room by their ears.

Whilst Lambert and Eskel’s grunts of pain weren’t new sounds to her, them being her alarm clock certainly was.

With as much privacy as he could afford in the bedchamber, Vesemir had taken her pseudo-father and his brothers into the corner and set his back in her direction so that she couldn’t lip-read his words.

Which – fair enough – she had been planning to put those lessons from Lambert into use for some time and that would have been a perfect moment.

Vesemir had spoken to the other alphas for only a matter of moments before the absolute shitstorm that was currently happening around her had begun. Geralt was stood to her side, fists clenched and eyes blazing with a fire of depths unknown, jaw tight from gritted teeth, breath coming out in short, angry pants that brushed against her hair and moved it softly.

Lambert stood opposite her, fists pounding against the wall as he rapidly shouted obscenities, one after the other with the rhythm of his fists. His tone was low and growly, 100% alpha anger filling his voice and continued to make longer and more impressive chains of threats to an unseen body. His shoulders were drawn high, his back tight and no doubt his lips were open in a snarl as blood began to drip down the wall.

It spoke to how angry the alphas were that not one of them stopped him.

Her eyes drew to wear Eskel sat contemplatively on the only chair in the room. His eyes were downcast, mouth twisted into a frown and hands clenched tightly in his lap; for the usually boisterous man, the lack of movement was incredibly unnerving to witness. It was as if someone had taken all the energy out of him and siphoned it off into the other alphas in the room.

“What’s happening?” She piped up quietly, face scrunched in confusion and concern over her father and uncles. Geralt doesn’t speak, only lets out a simple _hmm,_ but pulls her towards him so her face is buried in the skin at his hips – she appreciates the warmth and comfort, but the distraction won’t work on her.

“Vesemir?” She tries again, directing a steely gaze towards the old alpha, lips pulled tight in a frown as she sees him weigh up the benefit of telling her. Lambert, she notices with a quick glance, is looking at Vesemir with a fierce look whilst shaking his head whereas Eskel simply sends a shrug of his shoulders; clearly letting the older man decide.

With a clearing of his throat, Vesemir takes a step forward, hands clasped tightly together as he steels his gaze upon her own. She can sense the war raging inside of him, can see the distress he so rarely shows in his eyes.

“Last night, the Viscount revealed some…information about the ceremony which previously had been unknown to us. As you can see,” he begins with an arm stretching around the room, “it has caused some distress to us, especially as we now only have a few hours before the ceremony begins.”

With a growl Lambert storms out of the room, full of alpha rage and anger, and the group can hear as he slams the door of his room behind him and the subsequent smashing and shouting which followed. Ciri casts her glance away from the door and back to Vesemir, whose own eyes have yet to leave the space his youngest had just vacated.

“As you can see, some of us are _extremely_ distressed about the news.”

The hand on her shoulder tightens in anger and the growl that Geralt unleashes vibrates through her body from her head to her toes. Eskel remains seated, but unlike before his face is completely blank, giving away no thoughts or feelings.

“How is it,” he spoke quietly, voice gravelly and rough from the small tendrils of sleep that rested upon his shoulders, “that we have known about the majority of all ceremony particulars but this one – one I do not hesitate to call important – has failed to be knowledge to us?”

Ciri is now more curious than ever about what this particular feature of the wedding is, but the looks on Eskel and Vesemir’s faces mixed with the tight grip Geralt has on her shoulders and Lambert’s shouting match in the other room convinces her to remain silent for the moment.

Vesemir looks troubled at the question, eyes downcast and finger scratching at his chin in thought, voice silent as he runs through the encyclopaedic knowledge in his head.

It’s Geralt who speaks next, voice buzzing through her body as he moves to sit next to her on the bed, drawing her closer and wrapping his arms securely around her. “It can’t be fucking real Vesemir, what kind of stupid shit rule is that it's degrading and disgusting.”

“Need I remind you brother,” Eskel interrupts before Vesemir can even open his mouth to respond, “that Witcher’s are in short supply for the very reason that humans can be disgusting, that the reason we get shoved from towns is that they are afraid of us and spend their times degrading us?”

Geralt’s grumbles at the response, nodding his head angrily at the reasoning before burying his nose into her hair to calm down. Whilst not strong, her beta scent is usually enough to relax Geralt down in any situation.

“It matters not if we don’t believe in the traditions of Lettenhove, what matters is that we have to respect it, regardless of our feelings to it. Our very reputation, our very _existence_ , relies on us completing this marriage – it will help us integrate into human society without being labeled monsters.”

As Vesemir sits down with a sigh, Ciri is struck with just how old the man looks. His shoulders are slumped with the weight of the world and its responsibilities, with the pressure of keeping his family in check.

His eyes are worn and tired, stress embedded in the very skin around them, as they shine with horrors of times long past, of lives suffering and ending. Hands scarred and callous with the pressure of ensuring his sons can protect themselves and others, ensuring that they will always be able to fight and _live_ to tell the tale.

He will never look his true age, but to Ciri, Vesemir has never looked more old or worn down than at this moment, discussing the actions of a disgusting Viscount.

Eskel looks like he wants to protest what Vesemir has said, even opens his mouth to do so when the door opens sheepishly and Lambert steps through the threshold. His knuckles are bloodied and torn, hands highlighted with a vicious colour of red, and sweat lines his forehead.

His eyes catch hers and he gives her a faux casual smile and shrugs nonchalantly – as if his hands weren’t leaving liquid pools on the stone flooring where he stood. “You should see the other guy.”

“Well, he’s definitely going to be a prettier sight than your ugly mug.” Eskel snipes back, a smile curling at his lips as Lambert squawks in protest and prepares himself to lunge – she can smell the fight on both of them.

“Boys” comes Vesemir’s voice, strained and tired. Lambert and Eskel stop their playing instantly, faces contrite as they settle down on the bed beside her, Geralt shifting her slightly so they could all fit on.

“Regardless of our feelings we need to make a decision about who will be partaking in the tradition – clearly Geralt and Ciri are exempt – and then we need to get ready, the wedding is in a few hours and we won’t have time to discuss this then. Understand?”

The alphas around her look incredibly displeased, Lambert’s face had turned a particular shade of pale but ultimately nodded in reverence to Vesemir’s words. She opened her mouth to ask, to finally get some more details about what _exactly_ was being discussed, but Geralt whisked her from the bed and slung her over his shoulders before making towards the door.

“Geralt wait –

“C’mon pup,” his voice reverberates against her body, his shoulder digging into her slightly as he descends the steps towards the dining hall, “let’s get the day started, it’s a wedding after all.”

Ciri bit her lip in thought. Whilst she **did** want to know what the boys had been speaking off, she was the only one with any courtly knowledge and none of them would know the first thing about getting ready.

In some ways, she was the only thing keeping this wedding going on the Witcher side.

So, with a sigh and a sharp elbow, Ciri strode down the corridors alongside Geralt, morning slowly forgotten as she badgered him the entire way to breakfast about what he intended to do throughout the day.

Surely, she would find out sooner or later what had caused so much anger?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, I think this chapter is a bit shit because I've not really been in a writing mood lately but I wanted to put something out for you guys because you have supported me so incredibly and you deserve the world and more! Please don't hesitate to comment on what you liked, didn't, and anything you want to see in the upcoming chapter!
> 
> Who will be chosen to be there on the wedding night? Will Geralt go through with the wedding? Can Ciri get her Witcher's to behave in courtly society??/?


	8. See me now, a ray of light in the moondance, See me now, I cannot leave this place

Jaskier couldn’t stop the shaking in his hands if he tried. His omega scent was filling the room with nervous energy and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

The rest of his body wouldn’t stop for that matter.

He’d been awoken early, much earlier than his usual time, by a flurry of maids and manservants who moved in and out of his room with military precision. When one group came in to provide him with breakfast, the other went to grab his bath, when one came to scrub his body and shave his face, the other left to go grab his wedding outfit.

It gave him comfort, to not be the one running around like a blue-arse fly but the constant sitting around and watching as others rushed around only caused the nerves to build up more.

Jaskier found he couldn’t protest as people forced the food down his mouth, holding open his mouth with tight hands as a weak broth and water was poured down, the wooden spoon jabbing the back of his throat as they thrust it towards him too forcefully.

The food tasted of ash, claggy and uncomfortable in the lining and roof of his mouth and the water was dirty. It had clearly been used by someone else already, and the remainder brought down to his room; _most likely my father_ , the dark thoughts entered his mind, and the anxious scent that once permeated the room turned bitter with sadness and disgust.

As hands divested him of his bedclothes and dumped him in the icy water of the bath, Jaskier looked down at himself with emotionless vapidity. Blank blue eyes watched as rough hands dragged ragged clothes down the skin of his arms, witnessed how they greedily grabbed at his legs and raised them high in the air to suffer the same treatment.

It felt like hundreds of needles ripping into his skin, or sharp nails drawing forth his blood from where it had hidden deep within him – if only to finally bring back some colour to his complexion and make him look like a living being once more.

Water was thrown over his head and his body was dragged beneath the waves, hands holding him down as others moved across his body with deadly precision. Soap-suds filled his nose and mouth and Jaskier watched curiously as his body thrashed and struggled beneath the depths whilst the beta’s stood around looking bored.

Whatever soap they had used had disguised his scent into abject obscurity; not a hint of it remained in the room, not a single drop of fear reached his nose nor could he smell his own natural scent.

He jerked back into his body with immediacy as he was bodily hauled from the water, his bare body open to the room for only a few moments before the rough scrapping of a towel began the harsh process of drying him off.

He stood awkwardly as servants moved around the room to lay out his wedding outfit, leaving him shivering in the corner and without his scent to calm him. No items of comfort had been offered to him, his father having hidden his lute whilst he was out for lessons yesterday, and Jaskier could do nothing but preserve what little dignity he had left.

All around him, servants argued with whispers about what order they should go about getting him prepared next, the clothes and then the make-up or the make-up and then the clothes? A brave soul suggested letting Jaskier decide how he wished to be treated but the rising tide of anger leveled at the poor girl left her speechless and with her head hanging down.

Truthfully, it did not matter what Jaskier wished to do, nor which order they should get him ready, for ultimately the outcome would be the same. Within only a few hours he would be wedded to a Witcher, the most noble _White Wolf,_ Jaskier harshly reminded himself – not just any Witcher – and hopefully far removed from these horrifying walls.

The threat his father had imposed only the night before, of finally getting his chance to fuck him, of being able to keep him by his side as a paramour, weighed heavily on his mind and cast doubt upon his dreams of leaving. But surely, his _Mistrz Alpha_ – for that will become Geralt once the marriage had been finalised – wouldn’t leave him behind?

Would he?

Jaskier shook his head sharply, trying desperately to dispel the nightmare that would be his mate walking away and leaving him behind the hell that remained inside of his home. The Witcher’s had more honour than that, he was sure, they wouldn’t leave a pack member behind, especially not one so closely entwined with their pack leader.

A sharp call drew his attention back to the room, and blue eyes widened at the sight of the manservants watching him with calculating expressions on their faces, and the maids tutting lightly at his empty-headedness.

With a sheepish smile that felt fake plastered onto his face, Jaskier stood forward and allowed himself to be drawn into the wave of hands that moved forward to meet him. 

Unwilling yet plaint, he subjected himself to the select few servants who artfully draped his lithe form in his wedding outfit, face scrunching occasionally at the sharp jab of a pin or the too-tight winding of fabric over his skin.

He wore a traditional Lettenhove omega wedding dress, rather than the more modern approach of allowing omega’s to wear wedding suits, as his father had deemed ritual was to be followed strictly for the benefit of a long-lasting and prosperous union between Witcher and humans.

Dark, forest green cloth was beautifully positioned to line his collarbones and fall to his feet so that a small train followed his movements as he walked. The colour strikingly captured the paleness of his skin and exaggerated the sharpness of his collar and the lines of his neck as it lay bare to the world; his father had spent hours designing the dress so that his best features would be brought forward.

For Lettenhove, the green symbolised to the world his fertility, and willingness to bring life to the earth and provide happiness and life to the home.

A lighter green, tightly boned bodice decorated delicately with white Star of Bethlehem flowers was pulled tightly against his chest, defining his waist, and keeping the dark green fabric in place. His breath caught sharply as the bodice was tied at his back, the strings pulled taut so as to best distinguish his figure and make him most appealing to his future husband.

It was no secret, especially amongst the nobility, what the flowers on his chest symbolised.

As per tradition, his feet were left bare, the cold of the stone numbing them slightly as he stood still and allowed those around him to work.

Perhaps the only redeeming feature of his outfit, and the only element his father allowed him any input on, were the long hanging sleeves of dark green that trailed from his shoulders to the length of his calf and opened up to show the lining of gold pattern on the inside. It was a striking yet delicate element to the dress that showed off the length of his arms and the elegant lines of his body.

It made him look regal, and for today Jaskier would need ever element of confidence his personal touch allowed.

The maids tutted once more as he drifted into his mind and wasted no time in dragging him over to the small vanity that lay in the corner of his room.

They did not spend long on his make-up, simply adding a few, minor elements that enhanced his features and made him look like a dashing, yet innocent and blushing bride. His eyelashes were curled, waterline marked and white powder pressed around his eyes to make them appear bigger and add to his ‘doe-eyed’ innocence appearance whilst his lips were stained a light pink to make them look plump and kissable to his husband.

His husband, Geralt, the white wolf of Kaer Morhen whom Jaskier would have to kiss at his wedding.

It would be the first time Geralt would see his face, at the altar. When all their vows were spoken and the rings exchanged, his alpha would be permitted to lift the veil from his head and see his face for the first time.

What would happen if the man were displeased?

Jaskier wouldn’t be able to handle if the wedding were cancelled due to such a horrific reason, and the disgrace such an act would allow would see his father to a swift and satisfying conclusion to his depravity.

The omega would be left destitute and shamed before the city and his father would no longer have any to stop himself on their ‘special nights.’

With a harsh shiver that wracked his very bones, Jaskier prayed to every God and Goddess he knew to prevent such a disgrace from befalling him. He preyed Geralt would be honourable and accept him in spite of his looks.

“Jaskier.” A deep voice boomed from the door, and the omega turned, surprised to see the room empty but for his father and himself. He felt his throat contract as his father's leering gaze caught onto his bare shoulder and stood swiftly, grabbing a hold of his veil – a dark green entwined with a lighter green – and placing it softly onto his head.

For once, his father’s eyes moved across his body with an objective gaze before nodding sharply in approval at the sight before him.

Without a word, his father stuck out his elbow and Jaskier meekly stepped forward to wrap his hand around it so that they could walk to the wedding together. No words were spoken between them as they moved through the corridors, nor were any glances exchanged as they approached the bejeweled carriage that would leave them to the forest.

But his father's threat was ever-present in his mind, and the scent of his malicious glee clogged his nose like a foul vinegar and made him want to be sick and call the whole thing off.

 _Just think_ , he whispered in his mind as he tucked himself away into the furthest corner of the carriage, _after the vows and the reception, you have no need to see him anymore._

It almost made him smile, to picture the moment the reception came to an end and all the food had been eaten, when Geralt and he could leave the area behind and finally have a night of privacy before he would never have to set foot in these lands again if he so wished. He had dreamt of waving to his father as Geralt walked him away from the celebration and never again seeing his face.

Since the wedding announcement, it had been the only happy dream he’d allowed himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, i'm much happier with this one than the last, and now we are only moments away from the wedding itself! Please don't hesitate to comment on what you liked about this chapter, didn't, and anything you wanna see happen next.
> 
> So I got ahead of myself and made a spotify playlist for this story if y'all are interested. It's not complete and I'm open to any song suggestions: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/742sZJjamY2gZnvb1TXuCB?si=TfeCVzISQDyGsyEgHsXU3A


	9. Have I found you? Flightless bird, jealous, weeping, Or lost you?

Geralt would consider himself a calm man normally. In fact, he would consider himself to be a man of integrity and honour, which is why when he says he wants to talk to whichever brother invited Yennefer, he means _talk._

In this instance talk meaning throwing them headfirst off the battlements and plunging them deep under a river. 

As he walked back from breakfast with Ciri, happily listening to her chat about the wedding with unbridled excitement – whilst himself carefully avoiding the thought of the dreaded wedding night – Geralt had calmly opened the door to their room without a thought. He could sense his family elsewhere in the palace, Lambert most likely scouring some food from somewhere and Eskel probably chatting up that servant he had gone with a couple of nights ago and so planned to spend his remaining hours as a free man comfortably with his daughter.

Instead, as the door creaked on its hinges, something small and solid smacked him directly in the face. It was blunt and collided with the point of his nose in a way that was painful for even Witchers to feel.

His training kicked in instantly, and Geralt shoved Ciri behind him within seconds, drawing out his dagger and preparing his body to fight whatever assassin or monster had crept into their room. They must have been one of incredible talent to not only reach this far into the palace but also find a way around his Witcher senses.

But even the _how_ would not distract him from his purpose. With Ciri securely behind him Geralt was prepared to fight whoever was in the room to keep her safe and out of harm; the humans may have deigned to live peacefully alongside the Witcher’s but their own petty wars could still bring harm. Only the dark, feminine laughter of Yen broke through the haze in his mind, her delightful scream of hilarity causing him to relax his stance. Subconsciously he lowered his dagger, mutant body relaxing in the presence of a friend.

There was a pause in the room, where Yen’s laugh subsided and Ciri came to a realisation that there was no threat present. With a gleeful shout, she pounced forward, arms wide and bright smile on her face as she collided with Yen who was stood proudly in the middle of the room.

As the two gleefully celebrated their reunion, arms wrapped tightly around each other all the while, Geralt took the chance to look at what Yen had felt fit to throw at him. Down on the floor, perfectly angled off to the side was a single shoe, a pointed dagger of a structure making up the heel. The mere thought of the actual damage the heel could have done made Geralt wince with pain and not for the first time he was glad to be on Yen’s good side.

“What was that for?” His gruff voice called out, separating the two from their embrace. Golden eyes watched caringly as Yen reached down with ease and picked Ciri up to place on her hip, the two sharing a secret smile.

Yen turned a disapproving eye on him, purple iris’ sharpening to a deadly glare that made goosebumps prickle on his skin. Her mouth swerved into a vicious frown and the scent of annoyed alpha clogged the room, forcing Geralt to bunch his nose in displeasure. “Were you ever going to tell me of your marriage or was I just supposed to know next time I visited and found a litter of pups surrounding you, hmm?”

Geralt cleared his throat awkwardly as Ciri giggled, “I’m infertile-

“Geralt.” Yen’s sharp tone forced him to reconsider his current way of living and the Witcher heaved a great sigh, feeling his body crumble as the air left his body. With exhaustion, he dragged a hand down his face and welcomed the incoming hug from Ciri that attempted to make him feel a little better.

“It all happened so fast Yen,” together the pair move over to a small seating area the witch had conjured before the fire, relaxing back into their seats – as usual, Ciri felt the need to climb all over _something_ and settled in Yen’s lap before once again wrapping her arms around her mighty frame. “One minute Vesemir is telling us of this proposal and the next it felt like we were here, only days away from the wedding. I’d have told you sooner if I could have wrapped my head around it.”

Opposite him Yen looked thoughtful, brow furrowed and mouth twisted in confusion. She was unusually silent, normally Geralt’s explanations meant she had to drag adequate information from him as if drawing blood from a stone and would relentlessly question him before being satisfied. To see her so deep in thought from so little conversation was most confounding, especially to Geralt whose social interaction skill was equivalent to that of a seagull.

In her arms, Ciri quickly grew bored and began to wiggle with frustration, her childish need for movement forcing her to escape the warm embrace. “Ciri,” Geralt called out, stretching out his hand to draw her close to him.

As she took it, the Witcher curled the smaller girl into his chest and scented her neck, ensuring that his claim lay proudly against her skin. Any person with a nose would know within a second which family she belonged to and who they would have to answer to should any harm befall her and, in turn, Geralt allowed her own faint beta smell to invade his senses.

The comforting scent of vanilla mixed with the relaxed undertones of sandalwood comforted Geralt enough that he sent Ciri off to go find her uncles alone – his scented claim on her being more than enough protection in the short span of time it would take her to reach Vesemir’s room at the end for the corridor.

Geralt knew he wasn’t the most adept at social situations but the peaked moments of Yen’s scent were more than enough to tell him she wanted this to be a private discussion.

Golden cat eyes watched her leave the room intently and as his precious girl left his view, he listened to her careful steps and tensely awaited for Vesemir to open his door; as soon as he heard the creaking of the door he relaxed back into his seat, and turned back to face Yen, a single white eyebrow cocked in anticipation.

She looked discomforted, eyes stormy as she took in Geralt’s person and scent bordering on an uneasy tone he had not felt form her for some time.

“What?” He had to ask when the tense silence became too much – usually, he was the last to cave in the face of silence, but the surprise visit and his impending nuptials in only a few hours made him slightly more stressed than usual.

“This proposal…something doesn’t sit right with me. Why now? Why Lettenhove? It’s not exactly the beacon of progressive thinking. And the timing, it so fast. Those in higher society,” Geralt coughed surreptitiously, eyeing the rich clothing that adorned the other alpha’s body and noting the way she spoke – she simply glared back in response – “hate to stray from tradition, a longer period of courting _should_ have happened.”

At the mention of tradition, Geralt’s face must have done something strange, for Yen pounced at the sight, hastily moving closer to where he sat and lowering her voice. Purple eyes swept around the room carefully, and she leaned in closely, “what haven’t you told me?”

Whether out of his own embarrassment, or the pending shame of his omega spouse, Geralt felt reluctant to share the newest piece of news the family had received. It felt awkward, the be so obsessed over the Lettenhove tradition, but also to have to inform his ex-lover of what was to transpire that evening.

But the need to understand overpowered him and Geralt quietly informed Yennefer about the Viscount’s late addition to the wedding, recounting verbatim what Vesemir had told him barely an hour before.

If he thought Yen had looked confused before, now she looked downright stunned – though for the sake of his manhood he would never tell her that – hand coming to cup her chin as her eyes turned heavenward in thought.

“That horrific!” She spoke after a moment, voice panicked and high as if recalling a long distant memory doused in shame. Out of their family, no one knew the shame of public humiliation more than Yen, and even now, decades after she had suffered as a hunchback and called venomous names by her village the sting hadn’t quite faded like she pretended it had.

Geralt nodded awkwardly beside her, hands staying stiffly by his side as he was horrifically unknowledgeable when it came to _emotions._ “I have never heard of such a law, however, not here or in any other county’s Geralt. Never!”

The two contemplated this in silence, Yen’s thoughts a library of old laws and traditions of era’s long past whilst Geralt simply thought of his intended, and how the evening would be one of huge humiliation to him regardless of the outcome. Virgin or not, Jaskier would be put on display and judged whilst being in one of the most vulnerable positions.

It was an awful thought.

And one that sent his inner alpha howling, foaming at the mouth in anger over such barbaric treatment.

With the thought of his intended, Geralt began to panic; he had wasted so much time with Ciri at breakfast and now with Yen, that time had slipped from him. The wedding was soon, and here he was sat completely unprepared for the ceremony. How would it look if the Witcher’s had imposed on the Viscount’s property and then backed out of their agreement – regardless of how much hey despised the man’s presence, humanity would not look kindly onto such a petty reason for refusing to attend.

Not to say, Jaskier would be left humiliated alone at the altar.

“Yen,” the witch looked up, purple eyes burning against his own golden ones. “The wedding is in a couple of hours I have to get ready.”

The alpha nodded serenely and stood from her chair, palms flattening out non-existent creases in her clothing. “Then do so Geralt and make sure you actually look nice instead of your shitty Witcher armour for once. I will spend some time in the library I think and look into this _tradition_ the man speaks of.”

Without a goodbye, Yen left the room with a powerful stride, head already filled with different books and resources she might need.

Geralt remained seating for a moment, contemplating the obscurity of what was happening before standing with a resigned sigh – he hated the thought of the wedding night, the anger within him at Jaskier being on display welling into a volcanic eruption. All he could do was hope Yen would be successful in her research.

In the meanwhile, he could hear the overeager stomping of Eskel and Lambert coming his way, no doubt to make fun of him and mess around with his wedding outfit. Thankfully, the window was already wide open, the whinnying of the horses in the stable below confirmed they would both have the secure landing of animal shit if they tried anything.

Only a few more hours and then they could leave this shithole for good.

And no matter what the Viscount said, Jaskier was coming with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the delay in chapters, I got stuck in a massive writer's block but here we go - a brand spanking new chapter for y'all to enjoy. I know its not the wedding yet, but I promise its coming in the next chapter! So in the meantime, please don't hesitate to comment on what you liked, didn't and anything you wanna see in the future!
> 
> And oh, would you look at that, I made a playlist for this (its incomplete but feel free to suggest songs): https://open.spotify.com/playlist/742sZJjamY2gZnvb1TXuCB


	10. Authors note

Hi Guys,

I'm writing this on my phone so please exscuse any mistakes. My computer completely shut down the other day and nothing I try will make it work. Unfortunately this means I have lost access to any and all of my works, anything I had started to write and all of my plans for future chapters, basically rendering all of my work moot. For this reason I might be gone for a little while as I need to get it repaired and in the case I cannot retrieve my files, have to redo everything. 

  
Many thanks for your understanding, love you all

Persephonesheart


	11. Where dreams and desires conspire

Geralt stood nervously at the altar, for at his own wedding where else could he be?

After a strenuous morning of Eskel and Lambert annoying the very hair off of his head, after Ciri had played with their outfits and decided she didn’t like the colour – therefore throwing a tantrum about having to wear hers, after Yennifer had stood by and helped with absolutely nothing; the group had finally managed to arrive in the hall exactly on time.

The crowd was heavily divided in numbers from what Geralt could see. On one side it appeared as though half of Lettenhove had come out to witness the historical moment occurring. He could see children with holes in the clothes sat next to women with monstrously large feathers decorating their hats, men of shabby posture speaking to lords with backs as straight as the silver on his sword.

The very poor, those whom Arawn had abandoned and left to become destitute, mingled perfectly with those with wealth, speaking happily about the wedding with twinkling excitement in their eyes. If Geralt witnessed a child or two pickpocketing something that could help feed them for a few weeks, he found himself suddenly turning blind – the only remedy being to turn the other direction.

On the other side of the room, blanketed by a coldness of absence, sat a few Witchers from other schools who had managed to find themselves close enough to Lettenhove to attend the ceremony. Aiden, who had greeted the party with a chaste kiss to Lambert’s cheek – much to Eskel’s howling delight and Lambert’s eternal embarrassment – sat front and centre, hand curled securely over Lambert’s knee.

From the corner of his eye, Geralt could see Eskel nearly bursting from hysterics at the burning red of their Brother’s face.

It was not the turn out he had expected. Geralt had been more than prepared to be married before his daughter and brothers with the rest of the Witcher’s finding out about the event many months after.

If not for Yennifer’s _eager_ assistance in creating portals, his dream could have been a reality.

The witch herself stood calmy in a darkened corner of the room, Ciri held in her grasp with a protectiveness only the most injudicious would attempt to get through. Stormy eyes looked at all with suspicion, a cold glare that danced into the mind of those held captive in her gaze; they hadn’t had a chance to talk since Yen went off to do her research, but something had upset her.

Something found had been distressing enough that Yen’s immovable façade had fallen like a sheet of glass, shattering her into a dark, dangerous mind that struck her still.

Not many things scared Geralt, but the sight of a frantic Yen burying her nose in Ciri’s neck to calm down had stirred an uncomfortable feeling deep in his gut.

And yet, pushing past the feeling of gut-wrenching nerves, of deep-rooted fear, that had turned his feet to concrete as he took the final steps up the altar; a small glimmer shone within, like the first twitter of a lark after a storm, or the sweet laughter of a child in the daybreak.

Sweet tingling, flurries of heartbeats, streamed through his blood and Geralt shuffled his feet where he stood, turning his head slightly so that the world could not see the excited smile that graced his features. Vesemir, silent and strong as he stood beside him, sent a soft smile against the wind that hummed with content and filled Geralt with a peace he recently had been missing.

He could sense the other alpha’s pleased nature, the way he had felt relaxed despite the numerous strangers in the room, and something hidden far into Geralt’s subconscious was pleased that the man he saw as a father was happy with him. The ceremony was starting soon; the sense of anticipation underlined with fear mingled strongly in the air, blocking Geralt from sensing his beloved approaching from behind the ostentatious doors.

How would Jaskier look this day?

Such a bright, fashionable omega no doubt would be wearing a stylish modern outfit, one that Ciri would beg and beg to have replicated until the puppy dog eyes, she had perfected wore one of his brothers down and they spent the year’s earning on getting it made for her.

He had seen her make them do a lot worse.

All morning, as she’d helped him prepare, Ciri had blessed him with her myriad of ideas of what Jaskier could possibly wearing – she’d dismissed all traditional designs of long gowns and corseted bodice’s within seconds, and instead put in his head the image of a tightly trousered, floaty shirt-wearing Jaskier.

An image that had been promptly welcomed in his imagination.

From somewhere deep within the chambers of the hall, hidden from sight but possessing a pitch that swirled in the air and sang into the ears of the congregation, an organ began to play – light tones that rose softly into a crescendo of long and heartwarming desire. Ciri swayed lightly, eyes alight with dreams of swirling in a princess gown, whilst being held gently in the arms of a faceless royal who would whisk her back into the life she had long been removed from.

Even Yennifer, whose grip was iron-on Ciri’s shoulder, relaxed under the song of love that danced through the air. Her face, so guarded and fierce in the face of a sea of strangers, seemed lighter in the strings of matrimony and Eskel seemed lost in the remembrance of long-lost loves who had passed with sweet words and bitter goodbyes.

Only Lambert seemed truly lost to the music, leaning into Aiden unashamedly whilst Lettenhove citizens watched in a cocktail of fear, with a rare look of open affection in his eyes and stars in his smile.

Geralt wanted to turn to his head to Vesemir, to get a final moment of strength, when the air around him changed to something sweeter, something alluring with a siren song that worked into his mind and turned it to mush. The sounds of hundreds standing, chairs being pushed back in a hurry, forced Geralt to confront the moment he had, until recently, been dreading.

The door was opening.

Jaskier was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sadly its been a much longer time than I would have liked, especially for all of you who have supported me more than I have deserved, but between losing all of my files, moving house, starting uni again, another lockdown and work, I unfortunately had to put this on the back burner for a little while. I want to thank you all for the wonderful support you sent me, it truly helped me get back into writing this.
> 
> This chapter is small, but I promise the next one will be hell of a lot longer, as we finally come to the wedding!!!!!!!
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please don't hesitate to comment on what you like, didn't and anything you want to see in the future.
> 
> Thank you all so much once again, I love you all!


	12. I beg you not to go home tonight. The season's right in front of our eyes

Muffled though it was, the noise of hundreds standing and falling to silence startled Jaskier from his place behind the large doors. Jaskier felt his breath hitch, his body jolt with a chill of anxiety at seeing the hall full of strangers, watching with morbid curiosity as he was given away before their eyes.

When Jaskier was young, when his mother was still alive and their family was normal and happy, his wedding had always been the one thing he and his mother would spend hours planning. Together they planned grand weddings with thousands of guests, food and drink spilling down the hallways as the party lasted all night, a pretty, young prince dangling from his arm as they twirled around the ballroom. Or perhaps a quieter, more intimate wedding; standing barefoot in the forest as twinkling lights flittered around them and drinks were served in flowers and food came directly from the trees, a strapping maiden holding him close as the stars witnessed their love.

But that time had long passed, and Jaskier was left feeling dread as the doors slowly opened and the entire city was revealed to him. In startling shock at the sheer _number_ of people, Jaskier attempted to step back, fear, and abash thundering down his body as his heart collapsed in his chest. A yelp startled from his throat as his father’s grip on his arm tightened to iron, sharp nails imprinting crescent moons on his skin.

“ _Don’t you dare,”_ He heard Arawn hiss, voice low and dark as it poisoned its way into his ear.

With a gulp and sharp breath, Jaskier painted his face once again with the grace and poise of the honourable son of the Viscount of Lettenhove, chin held high, shoulders back and smile composed; not a single hint of true emotion shining through.

* * *

Ciri’s eyes shone as she watched Jaskier emerge from behind the large, obnoxious doors at the end of the hall. She had been eagerly awaiting his presence all day, excited at seeing what such a fashionable omega would wear on his wedding day; the current style was so flattering and she knew with all her heart that Jaskier would pull it off stylishly and with minimal effort.

At the first hint of long, green fabric, Ciri’s shoulders slumped. Why had Jaskier gone with such an old, traditional wedding gown? No omega these days wore such items unless they themselves matched the tradition. But Jaskier’s placid smile gave no indication of being upset over the outfit, and as upset as she was at being denied the sight of something more exciting, Ciri would not dare say anything to the man himself.

* * *

Together father and son walked down the aisle, gentle music dancing through the air as two souls, lost to the stars and the universe came together in harmony once again.

Perhaps it was the music, a harmonious song that Jaskier himself had written many years ago for his mother, or the simple way Geralt smiled, mouth slightly parted with just the tips reaching upwards but with a gleam in his eye that softened his features and turned them ethereal; or maybe even the charmingly dark suit he wore, perfectly crafted and designed to match his own.

A tunic of tight white fabric (that stretched _quite finely_ over Geralt’s muscles so much so that the Jaskier wanted to pause a moment for how they looked under the light coming through the window) was hidden under a dark, forest green tunic embroidered beautifully with swirling patterns of gold and white that waltzed together in passion and tranquillity, patterned with the flower of their people. Black leather trousers, drawn tight to Geralt’s legs, perfectly defined the power and strength the man held within his thighs and Jaskier spared a brief, wistful thought to his own trousers that he had wanted to wear.

As the wolves had so few marriage traditions, Geralt had followed Lettenhove tradition and gone barefooted like Jaskier; feet connected to the ground and pointed straight to where Jaskier now walked slowly up the aisle. For some unexplainable, inexplicable reason, the fact that they both were barefoot made something within Jaskier please, and for a split second the fake smile he had spent so long crafting fell from his face,

Under the evening light, rays golden and warm as they fell through the high stained windows of the hall, Jaskier could pretend his mother was here with him, watching as her little boy walked confidently forward to the alpha of his choosing, an alpha strong and caring that together they had accepted and allowed Jaskier to be courted by. He could feign Geralt, clever and beautiful Geralt, was just as excited as he and that together they looked forward to their new life with love open in their hearts.

Arawn’s tight grip brought Jaskier back to reality, the pain in his arm flaring as they reached the point of separation; Geralt wasn’t his chosen alpha, a man he loved with all his heart and who loved him back just as much, the wedding was merely a show of trust and the verging relationship between Witcher’s and the rest of humanity and Jaskier was stuck in the middle, a pawn for their game.

Perhaps Jaskier could have loved Geralt with time, or if the Witcher’s had been allowed to go through the proper courting rituals they would be on the same standing, but the mere thought of getting married to this stranger stirred his stomach up evil. It did not help, as he thought it would, that his alpha-to-be already had a child and lover on standby (if the stunning witch in the corner possessively holding the pup was any indication) as Jaskier would once again be reduced to a second thought; an unwanted tagalong in a family already big enough how it was. His father once again broke Jaskier from his spiral, placing a delicate, chaste kiss against his cheek in a symbol of loving familiarity.

Jaskier could not stop the flinch of his body if he tried.

* * *

Yennifer felt her eyes sharpen as the omega, _Jaskier,_ separated from his father. Surely that was not a flinch she saw coming from the boy? Whilst the rest of the hall no doubt followed the matrimonial couple with her eyes, Yennifer kept her gaze tightly on the Viscount. She did not like the smugness in his smile or the predatory gleam of his eyes as his gaze followed that of his son's movement.

There was nothing natural about how that man looked towards the omega, nothing in the way his hands clenched tightly on his lap, or the way he shuffled forward in eagerness sat right in both her mind and gut. Yen had had a long time to understand and learn the tells of the human body, years lost to studying the smallest of movements and the biggest of intentions.

The pieces of the puzzle were coming together, and Yen did not like what she was finding.

* * *

Jaskier took a moment to compose himself, mentally wiping away the remains of his father's lips, before once again straightening his spine and stepping up to the altar. He could not cast his gaze on Geralt, lest his nerves finally get the better of him and Lettenhove was stained with the memory of him running from his obligations.

He could feel the curious gaze of his alpha-to-be, the way his eyes fell slightly as Jaskier kept his own steely gaze on the minister stood before them, could smell the confusion and slight disappointment that coated the man's scent.

The minister opened his book.

“Let us begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I'm so sorry its been over a month since my last update and I normally would explain to you why, but so much has been going on that I don't want to burden you all with it. So on that note, I once again humbly apologise and hope that you enjoyed this chapter. Please don't hesitate to comment on what you liked, didn't and anything else you wanna say.
> 
> And I just wanna apologise also for how short this chapter is.


	13. Sweetheart never, never change. Keep that breathless charm. Won't you please arrange it?

Geralt could hardly hear the minister, let alone follow along with the sacred words of handfasting, for before him was the vision Freyja in all her splendour and beauty. From the moment Jaskier had entered, his breath had left him and refused to come back, leaving him a startling mess as his betrothed walked slowly towards him, bare feet padding near silently across the floor. Jaskier looked like an _angel._

The green of his dress, dark and complementary to both Geralt’s own outfit and the omega’s skin tone flushed tightly to his skin and drew the eye to the stunning angles and assets his betrothed could boast. Never before had a neck inspired such sinful thoughts in Geralt’s mind, and the unmarked, unblemished skin made his alpha salivate with a need so desperate it took over his whole body.

Geralt was not used to holding such desire for one person, especially not one who was clothes. Not even with Yennifer, when the pair had been bespelled by a djinn many years prior, had stirred such feelings in his heart or his alpha. As loathe as he was to admit it, Ciri’s stubborn belief about soulmates might have some basis in reality. Jaskier’s bodice, which beautifully highlighted his figure and showed the daintiness of his waist compared to the structure of his shoulder’s, were decorated with delicate white flowers that Geralt had no hope of understanding. But the delicacy of the design and the simplicity of the flower seemed to match the wearer perfectly and made the outfit fit Jaskier even more.

Safe to say, Geralt was completely enamoured with the view before him.

Even the sleeves, which normally Geralt couldn’t give two shits about even if Eskel were to shove them up his arse, seemed to compliment his omega bride, showing off his body in all its long and lithe beauty. Long and lithe beauty that Geralt wanted to-

A subtle slap to his head from Vesemir jolted Geralt to the present and the slightly uncomfortable face his omega was making in his direction. The rest of the hall too, he noticed, was shifting slightly from discomfort, and Geralt quickly reigned in his scent, horror, and embarrassment creeping up his face as he realised how prominent he had been making his desire known. Hidden in the corner, Yennifer had put her hand over Ciri’s nose, protecting her from the onslaught of _desire_ that had wafted over from him.

His cub most certainly didn’t need to know how just how much more than admiration and adoration he was feeling for his intended.

“Families and friends of Lettenhove,” began the low, gravelly voice of the minister, a man who, to Geralt, looked like he had already been buried in a grave and exhumed to perform this service, and Geralt focused his attention upon the man. He did not want to draw himself back into the bewitching spell his beloved held him in, at least not until they were somewhere private, where not even Melitiele herself could see them.

“Tonight, we witness the ceremonial union of this pair, recognising before all the gods and goddess’ the strength of their joining. Into our home we welcome Alpha Geralt of Rivia, the white wolf of the North, and open up our hearts to him forevermore just as we welcomed Omega Julian Alfred Pankratz many years ago upon his birth,” Geralt had never been one for weddings, life as a Witcher on the path led to a solitary life with no friends, but out of all the weddings he had seen and the rare few he had attended, he could say with some confidence this was the most beautiful one he had ever been to.

The stained-glass window hit his omega in rosy tones and golden hues, making him sparkle in a romantic haze that Geralt found himself lost to once again.

The minister carried on, unaware of the flagging attention of the groom, “we welcome them both into a life of union and mating. From this evening you will love, serve, and honour one another in equal measure and live out your lives with laughter and honesty, never to fail the other. With the recognition of this union, the gods will shine down upon you with the gift of love, and so we invite you into a life of happiness and just as we share in the joy of this occasion. Let this evening be a statement of your commitment and loyalty to one another.”

Thus, came the bit Geralt had been dreading steadfastly since the wedding had been announced. Even before the life of a Witcher, he had struggled to speak in front of large crowds on any matter that wasn’t related to business, and the romantic expressions he was supposed to declare were well beyond his comfort zone. Not even practicing his words (which was a poor excuse for Eskel and Lambert to dramatically recreate the wedding complete with swooning brides and dastardly pirates before Vesemir had caught them and practically thrown them from the window) could have prepared him from this moment.

From behind his back, the minister drew forth a ribbon of honey gold and clasped their hands tightly together as he began to weave the soft fabric into a tight knot. Geralt could feel the heat from the omega, the slight clamminess of his hands which betrayed the mask of calm he had put upon his face; Geralt had seen that mask fall for only a second on the aisle, but what was underneath had stunned him flat with awe.

Ignoring the history of Lambert’s taunting about his mouth, Geralt raised his eyes to the omega’s deep blue oceans that stared timidly towards him and let out a small slip of a smile. A smile that he hoped conveyed his happiness and reassurance; he **_would_** make the best alpha for his betrothed.

The small smile Jaskier sent his way, a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth and a slight flash of teeth, before dropping his head as a fierce blush overcame his pale features, forced Geralt’s heart to stutter.

“The promises made this evening will bind you forevermore unto each other in unity and eternity. Do you both accept these promises and swear to honour them for the rest of your lives?” Geralt nodded quickly, neck cricking with the force of his movement, and an unexplained happiness overtook him as he watched Jaskier slip him another small smile, one that has hope shining in its depths, and nodded calmly and regally.

“Alpha Geralt of Rivia, the White wolf of the north, do you swear to accept the pains of Julian so that the spirits of your soul may grow in this union?”

“I swear.”

“Omega Julian Alfred Pankratz, Honourable master of Lettenhove, do you swear to accept the pains of Geralt so that the spirits of your soul may grow in this union?”

“I swear.”

The minister nodded solemnly and ran the tip of his finger over the golden ribbon, tying the final knot against the hand. Geralt could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest, harsh beats that threatened to burst out in a mix of happiness and anxiety.

“Alpha Geralt, do you swear to share in the laughter of Julian and honour him as your equal to temper the strength of your union?”

“I swear.”

“Omega Julian, do you swear to share in the laughter of Geralt and honour him as your equal to temper the strength of your union?”

“I swear.”

Once again nodding, the minister placed a kiss upon the fabric of the ribbon and bestowed upon it the love of the gods so that they would not stray from each other and remain in the union until the end of their time.

“And so, the binding is made.” The minister declared, raising their hands higher so that moonlight and sunlight could shine upon them in equal measure. The hall remained silent, hundreds of eyes transfixed on the ceremony before them and watching the halting connection that sparked between the two. Geralt felt like he could cry with the mix of emotions welling in his chest, a sudden need to let everything out overwhelming him on the spot as their marriage was confirmed.

They could not be parted now, not even in death. From the moment of their mating bite, Jaskier would join in Geralt’s lifespan and leave behind his mortality. It was more daunting than either of them would have liked to admit.

“Geralt and Julian, as your hands are now bound, so are your lives in union. May you always hold onto each other in times of light as well as darkness. Now Geralt, before the court of your people, and as alpha, address the words upon your mate with honest love and affection,”

A clogging caught in his throat as Geralt opened his mouth the speak the vows; words that only he would say as per Lettenhove tradition, the final chance for an alpha to express their love and desire to marry their partner. It was the one thing that Lambert had been taking the most shit out of since they and been made aware of their presence in the ceremony, and the one he had most been smacked in the head by Eskel _and_ Geralt for.

But could he do this, express his potential love for an omega he adored but yet knew nothing about?

Would Jaskier even desire to hear the words from his lips, from a man, _an alpha,_ so scarred with a dark history?

They had barely even had time for a conversation despite all of Geralt’s mooning over his omega, they knew next to nothing about each other apart from what Jaskier’s father had told them about his son. But it was with a mighty pinch of salt that Geralt took those words to heart, words so obviously surrounded in a mist of lies and deceit. Neither Ciri, nor Yennifer had been properly introduced or explained to the boy, and he had scarcely met with any of his family.

The impatient cough of the minister refocused Geralt to the dismayed eyes of his mate, the sadness that welled within them. _Shit,_ Geralt realised, these words were important for the omega too, they cemented the intent to mate and the alpha’s desire for their mate; to not say the words was an outright rejection of their union and Jaskier would be stuck here in Lettenhove with a half-finished marriage, ruined for any other prospect or chance of leaving the city and his father hanging over his shoulder like an omen of death.

With a deep breath Geralt opened his mouth and began to speak, the pre-planned speech he had prepared flying from his mind as he spoke from his heart, “Julian,” he began, voice quiet and filled with as much warmth as could fill it with, “with a strong heart I take you, to have and to hold, for the most wondrous and terrible times, for the best and the worst of times, by day and by night, in sickness and in health. For I love you with all my heart and swear to love you eternally until death do us apart and for this I swear my sword on your life and lay down my heart for you to do with what you will.”

From behind him, he heard one of his brothers gasp at the love embed in his words, but Geralt could not tear his eyes away from Jaskier’s own.

Tears of crystal fell softly down his soft cheeks, mouth resting in a slight pout as he tried to reign them in, eyes filled with a desperate longing and hope that Geralt felt in his soul. A plea for love, for care, for _kindness_ nesting deep within that his alpha longed to fulfill to his utmost best. He could not stop the path of his hand as it swept gently upwards and wiped the tears away from his omega’s face, smile widening softly at the appearance of Jaskier’s own.

Jaskier’s smile, which was now softer and more open than before, a true reflection of the person hidden deep within.

Together their hands clasped tightly where it was wrapped in the golden ribbon, a clasp that felt strengthened by emotions not yet realised even by the two of them and turned to face the aisle as they slowly walked out to the sound of clapping and cheering from all around them. A genuine laugh left his throat as they were bombarded with small pieces of paper that stuck to Jaskier’s hair like snow and caught in his eyelashes.

He was _beautiful_.

From behind his omega Geralt’s world crashed around him as he saw the dark, menacing look from Arawan. A look plagued with disgust and resentment that soured the atmosphere and suffocated it within seconds, and a mouth lifted with a thinly concealed snarl of anger, with teeth gritted. His hands were balled tightly into fists but he refused to look away from Jaskier; not just Jaskier however, Geralt realised, but the open smile on his face and the happiness within his eyes.

With the dark look, and reminder of the evening that would soon follow, Geralt could scarcely keep a mask of happiness on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, hope you enjoyed this chapter! I just love the thought of Himbo Geralt getting emotional over being able to marry his soulmate. The next chapter will be the one everyone has been dreading and I don't think I even need to describe what will happen for you to know. If you did enjoy this chapter please don't hesitate to comment on what you like, didn't and anything else you wanna mention or think will happen next.
> 
> Also, shameless pluggy plug plug here but if you didn't know this story does have a Spotify which has been created with some suggestions from you lovey readers. There is a little structure to it so try and work out where hints from the songs themselves maybe, I don't know, I just like the music: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/742sZJjamY2gZnvb1TXuCB


	14. Pride can stand a thousand trials, the strong will never fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, just a quick note about this chapter, the song Jaskier sings is on the playlist (there are two versions on there and I imagined a mix of both but the lyrics follow the most recent version I added) and the song they dance to is Kissing you by des'ree if you wanna follow along with music!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/742sZJjamY2gZnvb1TXuCB

Jaskier gazed out at the large crowd sat cheerfully in the home of his father with something akin to a small smile perched on his face. The wedding ceremony, for lack of a better word in his linguistical brain, had been _beautiful_ ; something his mother would have loved to have seen him take part in. If Jaskier was being optimistic, he might have even said that his alpha had looked happy at the proceedings, possibly even enamoured as his steely gaze had turned upon the omega. But then the alpha had hesitated in his speech, his eyes drawn back to the cub and woman hidden in the back corner and Jaskier had felt his heart plummet at the harsh reminder that he was not, and would never be, priority for his alpha.

The man already had a child of his own, and a woman he called his. Jaskier was but an ornament, or at worst a broodmare for the man.

But Jaskier would not let the darkness of his mind overrun the happiness of the day. To see his people cheerfully and gaily laughing and talking amongst each other as lively music played from the band in the corner filled his heart with a long-vanished glee. He could see people throwing themselves around with reckless abandon, dancing with whomever and however they pleased, and for once the hall which only housed serious meetings and absent songs was back to its majesty. Even Jaskier, who loathed to be in this hall by himself, could admit the change was a good thing.

Long tables had been placed around the edges of the hall to accommodate the sheer number of people here, with a splendour of food lavished on each and every available space. In the centre of every table lay a succulent and darkly glazed turkey, or duck, garnished with glistening hors d’oeuvre, spiced baked hams crowded against salads of harlequin designs and pastry pigs and turkeys bewitched to a dark gold. Goblets of fine wine were served alongside bowls of champagne, decorated with finely dusted sugar coats, and dipped in liquors of orange and cinnamon for guests to sate their lusts for fine drink.

It was exorbitant but combined with the low hanging drapes of white and forest green, the shining candelabras entwined with ivy and holly spaced equally around the room and tablecloths of rich hues of silver, not a piece of it seemed out of place.

For a short amount of time when the crowds had entered the room, Jaskier feared his father's plan had failed miserably and the union of humans and Witchers would never work. The two groups, beside Jaskier and his father along with Geralt and a couple of Witchers who had been placed at the high table, remained on separate sides of the room, refusing even to look or talk to each other as the food was dutifully brought in and displayed for people to feast on. Then Ciri, Geralt’s little cub, had huffed loudly sending a whisp of blond hair throwing its self-up into the air at the motion, and stomped her feet over to the humans.

Jaskier had watched, with hand tight around Geralt’s own and blue eyes refusing to stray from where he could see the girls head, as Ciri had resolutely _bowed_ to a young boy, grabbed his hand, and began dancing the appropriate dance to the music; the boy (thankfully) had gone along with Ciri and soon the tense atmosphere in the hall had been broken with scattering laughs, and a few of the other men and women had gone to the Witcher’s, begging for their hands to dance with. Lambert nearly bit through the bone of the chicken leg he was eating when he’d spotted a bright-eyed, raven-haired, ebony-skinned woman confidently approach Aiden and pull him up to dance with her. And all three of the wolves around him had laughed disbelievingly as an older woman, frail-looking with crow perches around her eyes had shyly held her hand out to Vesemir when asking to dance.

Jaskier loved happiness and love even more so. To see it now, in abundance due to his own actions, made his heart warm and a smile break out onto his face.

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice came from beside him, hesitant and quiet, and Jaskier turned to see his alpha’s eyes stuck firmly onto the dancefloor, where Ciri remained, happily bouncing between partners indiscriminate of age, ability, or gender. “Yes?” He questioned, his own voice soft and quiet from disuse and cowardice, he hoped Geralt wouldn’t ask him to dance just yet, his legs didn’t feel quite stable.

“Have you found the day pleasant so far?” Jaskier raised his head in surprise, curious at the mundane nature of the question. As an alpha, and one he was mated to, Geralt didn’t need to worry about Jaskier’s own feelings; his father had told him repeatedly that in a union only the alpha’s feelings about things mattered. If Jaskier didn’t like or opposed to something, it wasn’t for him to comment, but for the alpha to just decide.

He coughed slightly, clearing his throat, and took a quick sip of the watered-down wine in front of him. “Yes, alpha, I have adored it very much.” Not exactly a lie but stretching the truth, if Geralt remains pleased with his answers then Jaskier could foresee the two of them living quite contentedly. Jaskier watched from the corner of his eyes as Geralt sniffed the air a little harsher and turned to face him with a confused look upon his face; with all the grace he could manage, Jaskier pretended not to see it.

The evening continued onwards in a similar manner, with either Jaskier or Geralt talking turns to hesitantly ask a question or comment on something happening, the other hesitantly responding and then dropping off into silence. With a sort of halting breath, Jaskier realised belatedly as the evening was coming to a close that this was the first time, he and Geralt had been able to talk with no barrier between them or buffer to voice the silence. It made his heart clench with fear that he could not appease or amuse his husband enough on the day of their wedding; on a normal day, Jaskier could talk a storm out of its water, had done so with the rest of his husband’s party, but not now when it mattered the most.

Time seemed to pass Jaskier like a shadow, and before he had realised it the food had all but disappeared from the tables and the candles were being swiftly replaced and relit by a team of servants who kept their eyes down and their hands fast.

From the seat to the right, Arawan cleared his throat and tapped his glass to demand silence. It took only a few moments but soon every eye was drawn towards the central table, and Jaskier swore he could feel their gazes burning on where his hand was tightly joined with Geralt’s own, the golden ribbon loose and barely holding together now. “Honoured guests of Lettenhove Manor, I thank you all for your merriment this evening, and ask that you raise a cheer in honour of the married couple sat beside me now.”

Before his father had even finished speaking, a loud cheer came from the crowd gathered around them. Hundreds of voices caterwauling and clapping in a boisterous manner, and Jaskier looked over at Geralt’s woman as she released a small display of fireworks in their directions.

If this were any other day, Jaskier might have taken the time to appreciate the wide variety of colour that shot from her hands.

Arawan raised his hand and the crowd smoothed itself near-instantly, even the Witchers who had undoubtedly been making the most amount of noise. “Now, keeping with our time-honoured traditions, my son Julian,” here his hands finally moved from their position by his side as one hand opened to point in his direction, whilst the other sat atop Jaskier’s crown of hair, gently patting as he continued speaking, “will honour his husband with a song and a dance before the evening finishes and they commence on with their life of union and love.”

Jaskier felt all the breath in his body leave him as the crowd turned as one to face him, curious eyes staring him down as he rose shakily from his seat. Geralt’s hand upon his arm was both reassuring and a shackle and Jaskier could not gather courage from within to gaze upon his alpha as he stepped away from the table. His steps were slow and quiet as the crowd parted away from him, only the slight swish of his dress against the floor making any sort of recognisable noise.

When Jaskier arrived at the centre of the room, he turned quickly and finally looked up to the head table where his family, both old and new, sat looking at him expectantly. The song he’d chosen was sure to get him in trouble with his father, being the one his mother had made years and years ago for her first love before she’d been ripped away from her. His mother had only ever sung it to him in private, in the hollows of the night when darkness and kind words separated him from his father’s vile anger.

He remembered the soft timbre of her voice as she sang the words and told him the meaning behind each and every lyric. The way her eyes seemed to light up as she spoke of a distant figure long past and her face softened with memories of loving caresses and honey-sweetened words that dripped from tongues lapped with love. Jaskier had requested the song every night when his father had disappeared off to his room, wrapped in his mother's arms as he let the tide of her love sweep him out to sleep.

If Geralt was to be his first and only love, it made sense in Jaskier’s eyes for the siren song of his mother to come forth and bless their union.

The crowd had vanished from the floor, sitting patiently in their seats as they turned their eyes to him with soft smiles and heartfelt glances at their own significant others, probably remember the time when they too had followed in tradition. But Jaskier had eyes only for his alpha, who sat proudly, if not a little confused, at where Jaskier now stood; his honey gold eyes seemed to see _him_ and not the omega inside or the body beneath his clothing. Geralt’s family too seemed to see him as a person, not simply an omega, and Jaskier used their gazes to avoid his father’s own.

If only that woman was not also looking at him, Jaskier might have even performed a little _more_ for his alpha, for whilst their match was not one of love, Jaskier did have eyes.

He cleared his throat and turned his eyes towards the musicians set up in the corner, giving them a slight nod as his hands came up to where his heart lay buried in his chest.

* * *

Geralt could not tear his eyes away from the hauntingly beautiful figure that stood before him like an angel. Jaskier, _his omega,_ surrounded by cloth of white and green, in fading light of orange was radiance personified and elegance in person. He stood with pride and courage, gaze unwavering at all the stares pointed at him as their eyes locked; deep ocean blue and fiery gold clashing.

He had not known of the tradition of the omega singing to their partner, yet another one sprung upon them by the man’s sperm donor, but Geralt could not deny he was not eagerly awaiting to hear his beloved’s voice. Ciri had spoken so fondly of it, with an excitement he so rarely saw, and even Eskel had admitted to hearing a small voice down an empty hallway the previous evening that had bewitched him still.

With anticipation stirring in his gut Geralt watched as Jaskier moved into position, hands clasping gently over his heart and feet standing firm against the ground as his eyes softened and the light from early returned to it with a gentle pace. His beloved opened his mouth, and Geralt sat enchanted at the magnificence and haunting loveliness that emerged from his songbird’s throat.

_“I will give my love an apple without any core_ _  
I will give my love a house without any door_ ”

No music accompanied the words, and the hall was filled with the beguiling voice of Jaskier, a soft, heartfelt voice that reached into every crevice and crack and lined it with a deep love that echoed in the bones and the blood of every person in attendance. Geralt himself could not breathe for the rise and fall of Jaskier’s voice, the loveliness that captured his ears and his heart. A songbird, through and through, whose wings were beginning to expand as the hall remained enraptured in his song.

Slow and low, Geralt vaguely heard the musicians join in the song, instruments playing soft to accompany Jaskier, but the alpha could not remove himself in any fashion from where his songbird stood.

“ _I will give my love a palace wherein he may be_  
And he may unlock it without any key,”

The words were heavy and lined with more meaning than Geralt could ever hope to understand without discussion with Jaskier, but the tensing of Eskel by his side, and the looks swapped between Lambert and Aiden struck a chord more prolific than love.

_“My head is the apple without any core_ _  
My mind is the house without any door,  
My heart is the palace wherein he may be  
And he may unlock it without any key”_

Peace had settled into Geralt’s heart at Jaskier’s words and voice, the urge to fight or move disappearing as a sweet caress of voice washed over him. It made Geralt want to lie in front of a fire with his beloved and wrap him tightly in furs and lavish him with as much love that could be contained in his body; the sensation was new but Geralt felt himself welcoming it without worry.

_“I will give my love an apple without any core_ _  
I will give my love a house without any door  
I will give my love a palace wherein he may be  
And he may unlock it without any key”_

Love. Harmonious, brilliant, love.

A sensation Geralt had believed for years that he would never be able to feel such an emotion, yet as he gazed upon Jaskier as the song reached its climax and his voice soared higher than any bird could hope to achieve, he was overwhelmed by the sheer love he felt for the omega.

As the song ended the two continued to stare at each other, and Geralt felt as though Jaskier could see into his soul as the silence continued to reign in the space around them.

The hall broke into thunderous applause and with it, Geralt’s attention. He looked towards his brothers, whose own faces reflected perhaps a percentage of his own feelings, and Ciri, whose small face was lit up with extreme delight and awe at the vision before her; perhaps she saw Jaskier as Geralt himself did at that moment, an angel in human form come to bless the earth.

As the crowd dimmed away, Geralt moved forward, aware of the next aspect of the evening and for once not dreading the eyes that would be upon him. Dancing was not his forte, not by a long shot, but from the moment he had seen Jaskier, Geralt had practiced harder at his dancing than he had anything else before in a desperate bid to impress his beloved; much to the amusement of his brothers.

As the two collied, grasping each other in desperate holds with Geralt’s arms coming to rest around his waist, the alpha would never forgive himself if he did not speak to his beloved even just a little of his feelings.

“You were beautiful, your voice it- it was- I was,” Never before had Geralt so hated his introverted nature as he did now, with Jaskier’s eyes so desperate upon him and awaiting comment, “I was enchanted, you’re voice is, it’s like a siren.” Jaskier’s smile, one that Geralt had just now realised looked incredibly fake, melted into something a little more warm, a little more _real._

“Thank you,” he spoke quietly, breaking eye contact as he looked shyly down at their feet as the music began once again and they began to dance, “I am glad you enjoyed it.”

“I more than enjoyed it,” Geralt felt the words break out of him, heart traitorously skipping a beat as Jaskier’s eyes shot back up to his own, “I tell no lie Jaskier, your voice,” he cut off as he turned his beloved and dipped him slightly as the music rose softly before drawing him back in, “your voice was angelic.” A soft blush took over the omega’s face and Jaskier spoke no more but awarded him gentle looks of happiness with a slight blush upon his face and long eyelashes curled against his cheek.

Just the dance left, Geralt thought, just the dance and the horrid evening and then Jaskier could be taken far away from this stifling place and be allowed to spread his wings as nature herself intended.

Geralt would die to see it so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, I'm sorry it took so long to update but I'm pretty pleased with how this one turned out. The next chapter is the one we have all been dreading yet waiting anxiously for so as a treat for you all being so lovely and waiting patiently for me to update this story I'm gonna go ahead and give you a little preview just to tantalize you all: 
> 
> “This is not good enough! First the use of covers, then that creature covering him and now this! Turn around Julian, we cannot see what is happening, who knows if you are simply faking it.” 
> 
> “Ara-
> 
> “We must see him fuck you Julian, or else this marriage will be void, turn around and face me so that I can see he is doing it properly.” Jaskier felt the tears gather in his eye as shakily he lifted himself from Geralt, throat tightening at the painful sensation. On shaking legs, he turned to face away from his alpha and bared himself to the gaze of his father. 
> 
> He smiled with his teeth and leaned forward in his chair. “Good boy.”


	15. At dusk the hunter took his prey, The lark his freedom never

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - Dubious consent/rape is involved in this chapter, it's not the most graphic but just a head's up.

They had danced together beautifully, Yennifer thought from her position hidden away in the corner of the room. Even she, with minimal training in the disciplines of court dancing, could tell that Geralt and Jaskier had performed perhaps one of the most beautiful wedding dances ever seen. Their eyes had scarcely strayed, arms holding tight and minds lost with the soft crooning of music that had followed them along the floor. If Yennifer was not aware of the bargain of the marriage, perhaps she would have thought them a love match, or at the very least friends.

They complimented each other perfectly, Jaskier with his openness, bright eyes, and stubborn pride and confidence worked with Geralt’s more taciturn, unrelenting nature; if they could just get past whatever issue was suffocating them then they could set the world on fire. Yennifer couldn’t deny she found the idea appealing.

From Ciri’s excited retelling of her time spent in the omega’s company, she wouldn’t even mind letting Jaskier become another parental figure in the girl’s life.

Violet eyes turned from the couple to the head table and Yennifer’s gaze darkened as she witnessed the man’s father. She could not see an inch of Jaskier in his features nor his actions; the way he leaned forward, tongue licking at the dryness of his lips, eyes glued to the dainty figure of his son as he glided across the floor. Hands, cracked with age but smooth with a life lived easily, rubbed together in eager anticipation as if waiting for a plate of the most delicious meats.

A shiver racked her body at his gaze, the familiarity, and memory of lecherous looks overcoming her. Arawn did not look at his son as a father should, but as a husband looked at his wife, or a chef at his latest creation, eyes filled with a greed and desire so strong it couldn’t be opposed. Yen was glad her little lion cub had been sent off to bed before the first dance had begun, the darkness radiating from this so-called viscount was not something she wanted Ciri around.

Yennifer had been around bad people before, been surrounded by them, and lived her life by their rules before, but this wretched creature that sat before her must have been one of the worst she’d ever encountered. His own people suffered in poverty and exposure, whilst he held a grand banquet many nights of the year and refused to even listen to their requests and he treated his own son, not as a person but property to barter. She had yet to see even a shred of remorse for worrying reports she had received when gathering information; talk and rumours of mass culls of people, hidden rooms underground far away from any city buried with the blood of innocents and devices so singular no one could identify them.

The sooner they left his place the better.

The quiet tinkling of a glass captured her attention and Yennifer stiffly tuned her gaze to where the beast in question was now stood at the head table, arms wide open and mouth parted in a toothy smile that belied the darkness in his eyes. “Honoured guests, I thank you all for attending this momentous occasion, I hope you all enjoyed the ceremony,”

Yennifer turned to face Geralt and Jaskier, the couple looking confused as their first dance was cut abruptly short, turning from each other to face the viscount with equal looks on their faces. Their bodies held tight to the other, arms still wrapped waists and necks without movement; if Yen could ignore the uncomfortable bubbling in her stomach, she might have found the tableau funny or at a stretch cute with their reluctance to part despite their short number of interactions.

“But now night has swiftly fallen, and time has arrived for the couple to part from our company and retreat into their own.” The comment raised a few good-natured whoops and cheers from some of the more drunken revellers, but yen saw the mask of Arawn fall for just a moment, the true darkness coming forward for just a moment.

He did not like others thinking of his son.

He raised his glass high in the air for a toast, encouraging the reluctant, stormy-faced Witcher’s around him to do the same. From where he sat next to the man Vesemir hid a sneer behind his glass and Lambert looked about ready to pounce directly from his chair and tackle Arawn to the floor in order to bash his head into a bloody pulp. Only Eskel, Yennifer noted with no surprise, managed to truly hide his emotions from the crowd, being the best of all Witchers at tackling and recreating human emotion.

“To Geralt and his omega!”

The drunken crowd around them roared with happiness and excitement, “To Geralt and his omega”

“To Geralt and Jaskier!”

They couldn’t seem to decide which chant to perform and Yen’s head began to boast as the crowd continued to scream the two over and over. It was not traditional to obscure an omega’s name during the toast, but rather declare it loud for Melitele to hear and take pleasure in knowing.

Geralt and Jaskier didn’t seem to know what to do, looking to each other and then at the head table where Arawn was currently directing them to a passageway with his hand. No doubt he was trying to lead them straight to the marriage chamber so that the rest of the night could begin; Yen could feel a growl building in her chest at the idea of what was shortly to come. What had Jaskier ever done to have to suffer as he would?

It couldn’t all be his father’s greed, surely? There had to be an actual tradition of such a thing happening because Yen did not think the Viscount would be stupid enough to attempt something as vulgar as this with a hall full of Witcher’s surrounding him.

With sad eyes and a heavy heart full of determination, Yen watched the couple walk towards the door, Jaskier looking a lot more cheerful than she thought he would.

* * *

Jaskier pushed the door of the marriage chamber open with glee, finally, he was alone with his alpha and his father could no longer touch him!

Finally, he could begin to live without fear!

As the door closed behind them, Geralt’s hand still heavy in his palm, Jaskier turned around with excitement in his eyes ready for the rest of his life, and possibly the best night of his life. His Witcher was so kind and thoughtful, Jaskier doubted he would even attempt to touch a hair on his head with triple expressed consent.

His happy excited thoughts ended, however, with the presence of his father and Vesemir stood on the incorrect side of the door.

Jaskier turned his head sharply to Geralt who averted his gaze with shame lining his scent and stifling the room, Vesemir too refused to meet his eyes, hanging his head low. Only his father, with eyes bright and smile wide, seemed to be happy with the present state of the room. His frame blocked the door and Jaskier felt himself cowed by his presence here in what was supposed to be a sacred room for just him and his husband.

“What’s happening?” He wished he could control his voice and scent confusion and fear took over and Jaskier could feel his body begin to shake with overwhelmed emotions. Geralt let go of his hand and moved over to the other side of the room where a small washbasin had been prepared for them, Vesemir moving to follow him with slow, shuffling steps.

His father approached him only then, arms outstretched as his hands clamped down hard on Jaskier’s shoulders. “My darling son,” his voice was filled with an excitement Jaskier knew all too well, and he felt his body clamp tightly as his father began dragging him into the small room off to the side; a room usually only for the omega and his nest that his father was now destroying with his scent.

The door closed with a thud behind him and the sudden breathlessness of claustrophobia began to claw desperately at his throat as his father stalked closer. “Father?” He hated how weak his voice sounded when left alone with the alpha.

“My son, I am sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you,” tears drew onto the edges of his father’s eyes, his voice wavering for the first time in Jaskier’s life, “the Witcher’s they…they have a marriage custom you must still perform.”

Jaskier felt his head tilt in confusion, no one had mentioned anything, nor had there even been a suggestion of such a thing by any of the Witcher’s he had spoken to before tonight. “Perform?” His voice cracked as the hands around his shoulder’s caressed his arms downwards and the grip tightened until he cried out in pain.

“The Witcher’s require you to prove your innocence to them,” Jaskier gasped involuntarily, tears drawing to his eyes, “you must show, with witnesses from both sides, that you are untouched on the outside and in, do you understand?” His voice was soft and low, the nicest Jaskier had ever heard him be but the omega just shook his head in confusion.

He didn’t understand, his innocence? Was he truly required to prove such a fickle thing before an audience, to bare himself in the light before his father and Vesemir as they watched Geralt take him? Such barbaric practices were unheard of, they were inhuman, dehumanising. He could not fathom, the act, to shame himself so and put on a performance to please a culture he did not even live within.

 _What a fool I am_ , Jaskier thought, _to have thought the nightmare over._ What would come of this? Would it evolve to the point where Geralt allowed his brothers to watch, _to take part?_ To be subject to the wants and desires of alpha’s he thought he might have been able to call friends. Without thought Jaskier tried to take a step back, only to be roughly marched out of the door by the heavy hands guiding him.

He did not have time to his tears as he was made to stand before the two Witchers. Had this been what Jaskier was expecting he might have blushed at the sight of Geralt awaiting him on the bed with only his shirt on, he might have teased and giggled as they undressed each other with tender caresses. Instead, tears only poured more heavily from his eyes and he did not see his father looming behind him with a knife.

A knife he dragged straight through Jaskier’s dress and cut from his body cleanly.

Jaskier stifled a sob as the cold night air hit his body, shame burning his cheeks as a rough hand pushed him until he stumbled clumsily onto the bed and collapsed onto Geralt’s body. The alpha raised his hand to steady him, but the flinch Jaskier let out stopped him in his tracks and Geralt simply sighed sadly and moved until his body was covering Jaskier’s own. Jaskier felt his breaths come short as the weight pressed down on him but with a curious gaze, he watched as the alpha moved the covers until they surrounded the pair, hiding them from view.

“Jaskier,” his name, whispered so softly, so _reverently_ in the darkness between them made him sob again but he did not flinch as a sword rough hand softly wiped the tears away. A low rumbling broke his panic and Jaskier was startled at the sound of the alpha trying to soothe him with his gravelly purring. Jaskier tried to hide his fear from the man above him, lest it angers him into action, and turned his gaze away from Geralt, desperately trying to ignore the soothing notion of the purring.

“I’m so sorry,” Jaskier snapped his gaze to Geralt, eyes wide and mouth parted slightly, “so sorry you have to be put through this if I had any other option I would,”

A sharp cough broke through the moment, and as Geralt turned to address the noise, Jaskier lay panting beneath him in confusion. Sorry? Geralt was sorry for a tradition his own people celebrated, yet claim to not have an option? It could have been declined in place of Lettenhove’s own traditions, the other option was openly available to them; all they had to do was accept it.

The stirring of a dark omen, a dark happening, appeared in the pit of his stomach and Jaskier swallowed the confusion down as he registered the words of his father. “It has to go I’m afraid.” Geralt turned back to him with weary eyes and Jaskier watched with apprehension as he raised the covers away from their bodies, shifting until the entirety of his own dwarfed Jaskier from sight. “Forgive me,” his voice whispered once again, and Jaskier felt the familiar feel of fingers sliding down his body.

A sharp whimper left his lips and Geralt’s hand stopped for a moment as his eyes flashed back up to Jaskier’s from where it had been watching the progression. They stayed, unmoving, for only a few seconds before Jaskier resigned himself to his fate; his father would not object to the proceedings and for obvious reasons neither would the Witchers.

He was completely alone.

With a sharp gasp, a single finger breached him and Jaskier’s body flinched upwards at the cold intrusion. He had not seen Geralt grab oil, but the uncomfortable coldness spreading inside of him let him know it was being used; small miracles were all he could pray for at this moment now. The finger moved in and out like the rhythm of an old marching drum and Jaskier felt the tears slip down his face at the uncomfortable feeling.

One shortly became two, and Jaskier let out a whine as a third was entered after a few more minutes of fumbling. He could not take pleasure from the act, his body betraying him as slick refused to be produced to help the process along. Everything was mechanical and painful as it dragged on and Jaskier preyed to Mellitele for a swift finish. He could not look at Geralt nor could he look at anyone else in the room and he closed his eyes as his sobs grew louder.

After what felt like forever in the silence of the room, Geralt removed his slick fingers and Jaskier cried out at the absent feeling. A hand, gentle and soft, caressed his hair, and Jaskier slowly opened his eyes to Geralt hovering uncertainly above him, eyes dark with lust but face twisted with an emotion he couldn’t understand. “I have to put it in now Jaskier, I’ll try to stop it hurting.”

The tears fell faster and Jaskier let out a shocked cry as the blunt head pressed up against his entrance. A steady hand held his waist, the thumb stroking the skin there softly, and Jaskier tried to lull his mind into numbness by following its rhythm but failed as he was breached and a cry of pure pain left him and bounced around the room. Geralt opened his mouth once more, a soft coo gently falling from his lips as Jaskier thought against the intrusion. 

_Ohgodohgodhogod_ Jaskier felt himself panting harshly as Geralt entered him slowly, he hated it, he hated everything, he wanted to die. His voice was shot from the crying and he could only whimper helplessly at the pain. Why couldn’t his body work for him just this once, why did he have to suffer this pain without the use of slick? _stopstopstopSTOP._

What had he done to Melitele to have her punish him so? _ForgivehimpleaseMelitelepleaseithurtsso-_

 **“** What is that _beast_ doing! I demand you turn around at once so we can see.” His father’s voice, excited and angry cut through the atmosphere, and above him Geralt shifted at the intrusion, jolting Jaskier towards the bed painfully and he let out a shout of pain. “I’m sorry,” he heard whispered again, a gentle kiss being placed against his forehead as if he were a babe laid sick.

Jaskier didn’t understand what was happening, what did his father want from this?

Geralt’s hands, so confusing in their care but conscious of the act they were making him do, turned him softly until Jaskier was atop him. He moaned loudly in pain at the shift inside of him, at the way everything felt so much heavier, so much _more._ The pain was hot and harsh against him, thrashing around his hips and deep inside of him and Jaskier could feel the drips of blood falling from him as his body betrayed him to the men surrounding him.

As his own father laughs at him.

Beneath him, Geralt was a blur behind tears as he was moved slowly up and down the hard cock of his alpha. He could not stop the sobs, nor the movement, and never had Jaskier felt so ashamed of himself before. “Stop,” he mouthed silently, head thrown back in hopeless prayer as his body was moved around like a doll; his father’s eyes were a physical being on his body and he felt flayed open without the ability to hide under the cover of darkness. “Stop” he pleased in a whisper, voice hoarse and cracking at Geralt hit a particularly electric part deep inside of him.

Movement stopped.

Jaskier felt exposed and subject to review as his father growled loudly at the lack of movement, the sharp crack of a chair breaking made him flinch and clench tightly around the cock still buried deep. His breath was shot and Jaskier struggled to keep his eyes open as pain assaulted him and his mind whirled with hated and fear. “Please,” he cried louder, unable to focus on anything but the hands still resting on his hips. He could smell the scent of arousal permeating the air, one with reluctance and the other with open annoyance, “please stop.”

From behind him the deep rumbling voice of Vesemir spoke up and Jaskier flinched at the harsh reminder of his more unusual audience, “Arawn this has gone on long enough, we –“

“This is not good enough! First the use of covers, then that creature covering him, and now this! Turn around Julian, we cannot see what is happening, who knows if you are simply faking it.”

“Ara-

“We must see him _fuck you_ Julian, or else this marriage will be void, turn around and **face me** so that I can see he is doing it properly.” Jaskier felt the tears gather in his eye as shakily he lifted himself from Geralt, throat tightening at the painful sensation. On shaking legs, he turned to face away from his alpha and bared himself to the gaze of his father.

He smiled with his teeth and leaned forward in his chair. “Good boy. No more of this crying shit please, it is not becoming and you look disgusting.”

Jaskier could scarcely breathe from the abrupt pain, and his vision darkened as he began to slowly move up and down his alpha’s dick, the shortcomings of his body rendering the oil useless as a small, slow stream of something metallic and red began to coat the body of his alpha. His father sat directly opposite eyes staring at the point of contact, where their hips rose and connected with each other; his hand roamed the space of his cock greedily, moving up and down at a harsh pace as his breathing sped up with pleasure.

“Jaskier!” He shouted, voice ricocheting around the chamber and the touch of Geralt’s hands faded from his perspective as the omega could focus on nothing but the memories that assaulted him. Memories of hands dragging against his skin, of a body much bigger rutted harshly against him, the beating of his ribs by rough hands. Breathy moans and groans, the sound of completion, “ _mój chłopiec, mój chłopiec, mój słodki mały chłopiec_ ” over and over and over. A never-ending cycle of suffering he could not break from. “Witcher, fuck the slut or I’ll do it for you!”

Something in Jaskier snapped.

His body flushed with a flood of slick and Jaskier threw his head back, letting instinct take over as he began bouncing on his alphas lap. Bouncing faster and faster, harsher and harsher as he pulled moan after moan from Geralt’s lips. The smell of blood drowned his nose as he continued to move, barely even registering his body releasing the tension from within in an explosion of white that coated his bare chest.

If this is what they wanted, the Witcher’s, his _father_ , then he would give it to them. “Fuck me husband.” He did not recognise his own voice, the sultriness, the playfulness, the pain, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” His voice rose in power and anger as he slammed his body down and ground with perfect movements.

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice was distant as Jaskier continued to push through the sensitivity until the pain became blinding and everything began turning white. “Come on husband, fuck me harder! Fuck me Geralt, do your fucking job and fuck me!” He was no longer human, but a pure, untameable beast as he claimed his mate, pushing harder and harder down against the cock inside him, “Jaskier!”

Geralt’s voice covered him and Jaskier arched his back painfully as the sight was torn from his eyes. He could hear fighting echoing in the halls, the angry slings of shouts and growls, furniture in the room cracking and breaking as splinters went everywhere. He tumbled down a dark path and flung himself from the path of destruction, body separating harshly from Geralt’s as he collapsed down on the dark and sodden sheets of the bed.

The pain was unbearable and Jaskier had to take a moment to recognise the agonised screaming was coming from him. He was torn to shreds, flayed open and whipped, skin alight with a thousand fires as the sound of anger and fighting continued to gain volume around him.

With a final, blood-curdling scream that tore his throat wide open, Jaskier collapsed into a heap and broke. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not going to lie to you guys, I hate this chapter. Over and over I have written this attempting to do justice to the moment, but every time something wasn't quite working but I love you guys and so wanted to get something out to you and this was my best attempt but I promise you I will go back over it an improve it. That being said, I apologise for my disappearance and hope you enjoy this chapter (as much as you can with the subject matter), and please don't hesitate to comment on what you liked, didn't and what you think will happen next. 
> 
> Love you all so much xxxx

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this first chapter! Please don't hesitate to comment on what you liked, didn't and what you think will happen in the next chapter!


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